


Balance

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jedi, M/M, Minor Character Death, Of drugs and other things, Senators (dunt dunt duh), Slavery, Smuggling, The Clone Wars - Freeform, don't worry I'll add more later, jedi order, many many planets and moons, mention of prostitution, royality, wow look at all these seemingly random tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 30,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight men from different walks of life board a ship headed for Wild Space at the end of the Clone Wars.</p><p>A senator, a smuggler, a slave, a prince, a friend, an assistant, and not one, but two former Padawans. </p><p>How did they get there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOW OKAY NEW FIC! 
> 
> To the Star Wars fans who find this from the tags: This is a crossover! The main characters are all from the book series Skulduggery Pleasant. Of course, other relevant characters from the Clone Wars Era will be present, but the four narrators and their four allies are all from the book series. It might be confusing for you, but not really more confusing than any of those Star Wars novels that take place like 10,000 years before the prequels. Feel free to stick around and read along, even if you aren't familiar with everyone yet. 
> 
> To the Skulduggery Pleasant fans: Yes, the eight men are the Dead Men. If you are unfamiliar or only vaguely familiar Star Wars, this might be confusing in the beginning, but I'll try and make it as clear as possible. Have any questions? Feel free to drop a comment. 
> 
> To fans of both: Come fangirl with me on tumblr!!! I'm under the same username as I use here. (Of course, fans of either Star Wars or Skulduggery Pleasant are welcome, as well. 
> 
> A note about the time: Most Star Wars timelines use BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin) and ABY (After the Battle of Yavin) like we generally use BC/BCE and AD/CE with the year of the Battle of Yavin being year 0. The Clone Wars take place 22-19 years before the Battle of Yavin, and this story starts 25 years prior. So... think of it as a countdown to the Battle of Yavin, if you're (like me) and easily confused with the BC timeline.
> 
> I'm really excited to start this work! I expect it to be longer than my last multi-chapter fic, as it requires more detail and covers a period of six years. 
> 
> Soooo... without further ado....

_ The hall was long and dark. There were pictures of his ancestors lining its walls. Whenever he crept down the hall to find his mother in the room at its end, he would always avoid looking at those pictures. They were painted by the best artists money could buy, but there was no life in any of those eyes.  He dreaded the day that he would become a man, simply because then his face would become another lifeless portrait in a long line of the same.  _

_ His mother told him not to fear the hall. He was grateful that women didn’t get their portraits put up in the hall, though to some that indicted his mother was somehow lesser than her forefathers. He didn’t believe that for a second. His mother was his only sanctuary from the lifelessness, the dark. He knew as soon as he opened the door to her office, bright light would outshine the portraits, and she would scoop him up in her arms and tell him stories until he fell back to sleep.  _

_ He ran down the hall as fast as he could. It felt endless, like hours passed before he reached the door, but eventually, he was standing right in front of it. The door towered over him; it was nearly three times his height. He was a small child, but his mother promised him that one day he would be taller than her. Like his father.  _

_ Standing up on his tip-toes, his fingers just barely grazed the cool metal of the door’s handle. He jumped and grabbed the handle, and as he came back to the floor, the handle came down with him.  The door swung open with a low creek, and he let go of the handle.  _

_ His mother stood behind it, but she wasn’t alone. He was confused - they never received visitors so late at night. She had tears running down her face. He wanted to protect her from whatever was upsetting her, like she’d protected him so many nights before.  _

_ He ran to her. She knelt down so that they were eye-to-eye and tossed her long braid over her shoulder like she always did so that it didn’t get between them. Her hands rested gently on his shoulders, and with the tears still streaming down her face, she said, “You have to leave.” _

_ “Leave? I can’t leave you, Mama.” _

_ She shook her head, and he had a sense that she was in a great deal of pain, but he didn’t understand where the pain was coming from. Physically, she looked healthy - and he was right here and healthy, too. She once told him that was all she needed.  _

_ “You’ve already left me, Saracen. You’ve been gone for a long time.” _

_ Saracen looked down at his hands, and as if her words were aging them, they grew from small, soft child’s hands to those of a young man, complete with callouses.  He looked back up at his mother to find she had aged, too. She had a a few wrinkles, especially around her eyes. Grey hairs were scattered amongst her typical dark brown ones. He picked up her braid and stared at it in his hand. So familiar, and yet the braid and his hand both seemed foreign. _

_ “Mama, what’s happening?” he asked, his voice now a man’s tenor. _

_ “A darkness is coming, Saracen,” she said. “You have to leave.” _

_ “Leave where? Why?” _

_ “Look at me, Saracen,” his mother said, “you have a great destiny. I always knew you did. That is why I let you go. But you need to leave.  A darkness is coming, and it will consume the entire galaxy. You must hide.” _

_ “Why did you let me go somewhere unsafe?” _

_ She shook her head.  “It was safe. It was the beginning of your journey. But now… you must go. The galaxy, the Republic, the Order, they are not as they seem. Please, Saracen,” she begged, “hide from the darkness.” _

_ Saracen’s mother began to fade before his eyes. “No! Mama! Don’t go!” _

_ “I must,” her voice whispered after she disappeared, “and you must, too.” _

_ Saracen looked over and saw that the other figure in the room was a faceless Jedi Knight holding a small boy he knew to be himself.  _

***

25 BBY, Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Saracen awoke with a gasp. He was in his room, and through the Force, he could feel his Master sleeping calmly in the next room over. Sometimes, when his dreams woke him, they woke him, also. He was grateful that tonight they didn’t - he would have asked after them. He didn’t want to tell anyone about his mother’s warning. 

Well, maybe he wanted to tell one person. Not Master Koth, though. Other Padawans - other Jedi - would think less of him for his desire to confide in someone rather than the Force. Saracen wasn’t to the point where he could release every last little thing into the Force, though. He didn’t know  that he would ever be able to. Master Koth warned him that was how Jedi fell to the dark side. 

Saracen couldn’t talk to Dexter, the only person he wanted to talk to about this dream, until he came back from his mission. That wouldn’t be for another week, so he would have to work on it himself until then. Being Force Sensitive meant that a dream could just be a product of his subconscious or a product of the Force, or more likely, combination of his subconscious  _ and  _  the Force.  He had to figure out what was vision and what wasn’t.

His mother was definitely his own projection. The strange things she spoke about… that was probably a message from a higher power. He could clearly see her in his mind’s eye for the first time in years, and the sound of her voice was no longer tainted by time, either. The clarity of the dream, the fact that he remembered almost every word… it was important. 

But why did his mother - or the Force - want him to leave the Jedi Order? 

_ A darkness is coming…  _ What kind of darkness was out there that the Order couldn’t handle? Or maybe it would cost many lives to neutralize the threat. Saracen wasn’t afraid to die for the Order, if the situation ever arose where he had to. 

His mother implied that the Force had greater plans in store for him than becoming a martyr, however. And while that sounded like something many mothers would say, she didn’t sound much like herself in the dream. Sure, he could barely remember her voice before tonight, but he knew its rhythm. She’d been a storyteller. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it was the Force, somehow directly communicating with him. He hadn’t heard any stories where the Force actually did that, but he often heard that the Force worked in mysterious ways. 

Saracen crawled out of bed and headed for the ‘fresher. He splashed some cold water on his face and looked in the mirror, hoping that those two calming actions might help him look at the dream from a different perspective. 

He took a slow, deep breaths when neither action helped. He didn’t want to get agitated, or inspire any strong emotion, lest he wake his Master. 

Saracen returned to his room, but instead of crawling back into bed, he sat on the floor and resolved to meditate on the matter. That was what Jedi did, after all. Though if his initial assumption of the meaning behind his dream was right, he might not be part of the Order for much longer. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing left to say is that this will probably get more confusing before it gets clearer. I've never exactly written something like this before, so it's kind of a test run. 
> 
> Like I said, questions are always welcome, and so is constructive criticism!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes at the beginning of the chapter that look like this: 
> 
> 25 BBY, Coruscant, Jedi Temple
> 
> are year, planet, specific location on planet. When they're on space crafts later in the story, planet will be replaced with region of the universe and specific location will be replaced with the name of the ship.

25 BBY, Pamarthe, The Prince’s Island

Twi’leks were inhabitants of nearly all the same planets humans were, but that wasn’t necessarily an explanation for why a small group of them had come to see Skulduggery, as he was only the prince of the planet Pamarthe, not yet the king. A better explanation would probably be that Skulduggery was far more accessible than his father. Ghastly respected that about him. 

Tanith, apparently, could not. 

“I don’t know why we have to house all these freakin’ tail-heads,” grumbled Tanith in Pamarthen. “Does Skulduggery’s family even rule over them?

“Tanith, settle down,” Ghastly said, trying not to be embarrassed by his wife’s rudeness. She’d been raised on one of the smaller islands. Never left the planet. Had some… misconceptions about other sentient species. The jab she’d made about the Twi’lek’s lekku - the tail-like organs that grew out of the Twi’leks heads - was one of the most insulting things she could say about them. Twi’leks were proud of their lekku. 

Twi’leks were humanoids - aside from their lekku, which typically grew in pairs, other differences between them and humans included lack of bodily hair and a rainbow of different skin colors they could have, although all but two in this small delegation were blue. 

“Well, do they?”

“If they live on Pamarthe, then Skulduggery’s family rules over them,” Ghastly answered. "Though, I don't know of any Twi'lek colonies on planet." However, just because Ghastly didn't know it, didn't mean they didn't exist.

“What if they’re looking to immigrate?”

“Then Skulduggery will probably let them. He dislikes how many others of his station throughout the galaxy treats them,” Ghastly told her. Twi’leks were the most illegally trafficked (sentient) species in the known galaxy. Plenty of rulers, politicians, wealthy businessmen, and crime lords favored them as slaves - and not for hard labor, either. 

“They’re a bunch of whores!” Tanith exclaimed, and Ghastly hoped that none of the Twi’leks that turned to stare at the two of them could speak Pamarthen. 

“Tanith, have you ever actually talked to a Twi’lek?” Ghastly asked, staring up at the ceiling to avoid any questioning gazes. They’d looked over because of Tanith’s outburst, but Ghastly could feel them continuing to look because of his scars. They were all over his head, neat and orderly even as they were grotesque. 

“Well… no,” Tanith admitted. “But I’ve heard a lot of stories.”

“I thought you of all people would know better than to judge someone before you met them,” Ghastly said softly. Tanith didn’t respond to that. Ghastly got the impression that she was ashamed of her harsh judgment. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Skulduggery opened the door connecting the audience chamber to the waiting room. Opened it personally. Ghastly was sure the Captain of the Guard didn’t like that. She didn’t like him getting close to any strangers, Twi’lek or otherwise. 

“Why does he do this?” Tanith asked. “Val hates it when he does this.”

“I assume that’s why he does it.”

“Ghastly, Tanith,” Skulduggery said, “I need to speak to you.” He switched languages, speaking Basic to the waiting Twi’leks. “I apologize that I have to keep you waiting, but I need to talk to my…” he glanced sideways at Tanith and Ghastly. “...assistants. I appreciate your patience.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said one of the older Twi’leks, presumably the one in charge of the group. “We are grateful that you have allowed for an audience with us.”

Skulduggery smiled his winning grin. “And I am happy to meet with you.” 

He ushered Ghastly and Tanith into the audience chamber and closed the door behind the three of them. Some royals sat above their subjects, on high thrones. Some made their subjects stand during audiences. Skulduggery wasn’t like either of those types of royals.  His audience chamber was set up like advisory meeting room - a semicircle of chairs, presumably enough for all the Twi’leks, today, with Skulduggery’s own seat at the head of it. All ordinary folding chairs. Skulduggery saved extravagance for his personal life. Ghastly liked to think that had something to do with his own influence. 

Valkyrie Cain, Skulduggery’s Captain of the Guard, was sitting in one of the chairs. She was in her full uniform, her dark hair done up in a tight bun. Tanith sat down beside her, her own curly blond hair bouncing at her shoulder. Ghastly sat down next to his wife. 

“What is it, Skulduggery?” Ghastly asked.

“Those Twi’leks want to live here. On Pamarthe. Thoughts?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Ghastly said. 

“I want them all thoroughly background checked before they immigrate, and I’m sure any one of your generals and advisors would agree,” Valkyrie insisted. Skulduggery smirked at her, and Ghastly wondered, not for the first time, if their relationship was beyond professional. 

“Where would we put them?” Tanith asked hesitantly. Ghastly gave her a look that warned her not to say anything speciest. She rolled her eyes and said, “I meant… well, wouldn’t you rather live in a community of your own species?”

“Not necessarily,” Skulduggery said. “Ghastly, you have more experience with Twi’leks than I do. What do you think?” Ghastly wasn’t sure that his three weeks on a medical ship staffed with Twi’lek and other humanoid personal really counted as “experience.” He was unconscious most of time.

Still, Skulduggery often came to him for advice, for some reason, so Ghastly had done some research on Twi’leks and their culture and customs. Undoubtedly, all of those things would have to be taken into consideration if they were going to live peacefully on Pamarthe.

“Twi’leks, as a species in general, are pretty resilient. I’m sure some will want to stay together, and some will separate from the group. How many is this group representing?”

“Three hundred, I believe. I was thinking somewhere in the Eastern Islands.”

“So your father won’t notice or because they’re more tolerant?” asked Valkyrie.

“Both,” Skulduggery said, and Ghastly wanted to shake his head because Skulduggery really needed to start talking to his father about his projects. 

“You’re letting three hundred Twi’leks settle in the Eastern Islands without telling the king?” Tanith said incredulously. Tanith was quick, but she was still adjusting to Skulduggery. Ghastly could understand that. Skulduggery was eccentric, to say the least. 

“I told my father enough,” Skulduggery said, and Ghastly sighed. “I asked you two to come in here,” he motioned to Tanith and Ghastly, “because I need people I can trust to monitor this colony of Twi’leks. I would require frequent reports from you.”

Ghastly looked over at Tanith out of the corner of his eye. Her lips were turned down in a slight frown. Skulduggery didn’t seem to notice.

“What about me?” Valkyrie asked.

“I trust you to come up with a way to get the general population of the planet on board with this.”

“My job is to protect  _ you _ , not to convince the public of anything.”

“Well,” Skulduggery said, “think of it this way. If the public doesn’t like my decision, they could riot. There could be fighting between the Twi’lek and human populations. There may, in fact, be an increase in people that want to kill me.”

Valkyrie opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Ghastly had to actively cover his mouth to keep from laughing. His best friend truly was a bastard. 

“Great,” Skulduggery announced, clapping his hands together, “then let’s go get the Twi’lek council.” 

Skulduggery stood up and went for the door, and Valkyrie was hot on his heels, shouting, “Skulduggery Pleasant! Don’t open that fucking door!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google Twi'leks, they're cool aliens. I'd befriend one, just sayin'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to update on a three day schedule, so the next update will be on Saturday. 
> 
> Warning: mentions/illusions to prostitution ~ I'll adjust the tags to reflect that.

25 BBY, Nar Shaddaa, Undercity

There had to be a ship. A cargo ship. Larrikin could be cargo - he was cargo when he came onto the moon. Something to be owned. A piece of property. He could live with escaping like a piece of property, too, providing that once he got off this gods-forsaken moon, he would be a free man. He just had to find a shipping container to crawl into. Nar Shaddaa was outside of any law but the Hutts’, and they were criminal overlords. Larrikin doubted they required detailed screening of their smuggled goods. Slimy messes of sloth and excess, they were. Overgrown slugs. 

Larrikin would know. He’d been owned by one for over a year now. 

He scrambled through the Undercity, passing by miscreants of all shapes, sizes, and species. They paid him as little attention as he paid them. Here, on Smugglers’ Moon, no one asked too many questions. There was nothing to protect them but their silence.

The city was disgusting, and the levels beneath it were beyond disgusting. Every possible redeeming scent was covered by the rotting stench of decay - which made sense, considering Larrikin was passing all sorts of dead things - plants, animals, people - both the human and nonhuman variety. He noticed a dead  prostitute, strangled and discarded in an alleyway, and walked faster. 

Larrikin walked with his hands in his jacket pockets. That way, when they darted out to swipe something from a passerby’s pocket, he could quickly cover his actions and hide his pride. He swiped a few credits here and there. Wouldn’t be enough for a meal on a civilized planet, but he’d figure something out. He just had to leave before any of the Desilijic Hutts released what he’d done. The Desilijics were a clan of Hutts - that was something they did, the Hutts. Divide themselves into familial clans. The Desilijic clan was known throughout the galaxy for their many crime operations. If there was a law about anything, the Desilijic Hutts had broken it. 

Distracted by his thoughts, Larrikin accidentally ran into someone, a pink humanoid. He tried to keep walking, but she - he? it? - grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him back. “Watch where you’re walking,” she - Larrikin wasn’t sure that she was actually a she, but her shape suggested she was built more like a human female than a male - said in accented Huttese. 

“Sorry,” Larrikin apologized. She didn’t seem to appreciate that, if the fact that she shoved him against the side of a building was anything to go by. 

“You’re a pretty boy,” she commented. Larrikin didn’t like the sound of that. Nothing good ever came out of being considered ‘pretty.’ Still… perhaps he could use it to his advantage. He had five credits, a jacket, and a pair of pants. Didn’t even have a shirt, so at this point there wasn’t much to lose. 

Well, except his life and/or his freedom. 

“So I’ve heard,” he said. His Huttese was better than hers, which was impressive considering he’d only been speaking it for a standard year. 

“Where you headed?”

“Off this moon. You wouldn’t happen to know how I could accomplish that mission, would you?”

The pink humanoid smiled, but Larrikin wasn’t sure that was a good thing. On his homeworld, a smile could sometimes suggest that someone wanted to fight. Larrikin always warned his enemies with a smile, grim and twisted. 

“I know… someone,” she said. “But do you have money?”

“Ah…”

The humanoid blinked very much like certain fish on his homeworld - with a clear eyelid-like covering that shuttered across her eyes. “No money? He might not find you so pretty, then,” she said, but she grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him through the Undercity just the same. 

She weaved her way to the toward the shipping district, and then once there she weaved her way amongst the cargo and the ships. Larrikin saw sad creatures peer at him pleadingly, and boxes stacked high and scribbled on in Huttese. The pink humanoid ignored all her surroundings. Larrikin hoped she wasn’t planning on murdering him for his jacket. He kept his hands tightly wound around his five credits. 

Finally, she stopped in front of good sized ship with a human man loading cargo onto it by hand. He paused when he saw her, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was tall and tan, with hair that went past his shoulders, and by the looks of him, he’d spent his entire life doing hard labor. Larrikin assumed no one had found him particularly pretty in his youth. 

The man said something to the humanoid in a language Larrikin had heard before, but didn’t know well.  All the smugglers used it when talking to each other, that much he knew. He thought it was called Bocce, but he wasn’t sure. That could’ve been the language of some species he couldn’t place. 

“You speak Huttese?” the man barked at him in the aforementioned language - Huttese, that is. 

“Yes. Basic, too,” he answered in Huttese.  _ And Tionese _ , but no one needed to know he could speak a nearly dead language. 

“Good. You want to leave the moon?”

“Yes.”

“Can you work?”

“Yes.”

The man nodded, waved the humanoid off. She disappeared in a blur of pink. “I’ll get you off  Nar Shaddaa, but I’m going to make you work for it.”

Larrikin smiled, fierce as ever. “What do you want me to do?”

“Load the rest of this shipment,” he said, motioning to the boxes and crates all around them. “Do you have a shirt, kid?”

Larrikin looked down at his bare chest, which was peeking out from under his open jacket. “No.”

The man frowned. “They won’t let you anywhere worth going if you look like a street whore,” he commented, like Larrikin could manifest a shirt out of nothing to get himself on a Mid Rim planet. 

“This is all I got.”

“Well,” he said, “you could either work for me long enough to earn yourself a shirt and a ride, or you can hope someone will take a shine to you the next place I touch down.”

“Is that your roundabout way of offering me a job?”

“Something like that,” the man said. Larrikin wished that pink humanoid had stuck around. He’d have given her all five of his credits for fixing him up with a job. And his jacket, too. After all, he was going to get himself a  _ shirt.  _

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4! I can't get to my laptop today, so the update comes from my phone - basically the only difference is nothing will be italicized in this chapter.

25 BBY, Coruscant, Senate Office Building

Erskine did not like Chancellor Palpatine. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. All he could say was that the man gave him a bad vibe. Well, he would never say that out loud. But he thought it often. And Palpatine, the bastard, seemed to somehow sense it. There was something in that politically pleasing smile of his that said I know all your secrets.

However, Erskine was a senator. Senators had duties to the planets they represented. One of those duties was cooperating with the likes of the Chancellor and the other senators, at least, as much as it was in the best interest of Kuat. 

Erskine stepped in the elevator. His office was a good thirty floors under the Chancellor’s skyhigh one. He was perfectly alright with that. It meant he only had to interact with Palpatine when he was summoned to, or in Senate meetings. 

He checked his reflection in the mirrors embedded into the elevator’s walls. Vanity was common on the topside of the planet, and Erskine wasn’t too proud to admit he could be as vain as his peers. Besides, he was a little self conscious about his appearance. It was why he has a personal stylist, an expert on Kuati fashion and culture. Today his makeup had a dark theme going - heavy eyeliner and black lipstick that extended downward in smooth, sharp curves far beyond his lips. He hadn’t known he was meeting with Palpatine when he’d gotten ready that morning, but somehow, his stylist had sensed it. 

The elevator doors opened, and two of Palpatine’s many guards ushered him into the office. He hoped his boots scuffed up the shiny little entrance hall Palpatine had engineered for himself. He didn’t custom order them from his home planet for nothing. 

“Senator Ravel,” said Palpatine in that grating voice of his. 

“Chancellor Palpatine,” he replied coolly. He took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of Palpatine’s high desk. It made Erskine seem much shorter than Palpatine, almost beneath him. Erskine was positive that was intentional. 

“How are the shipyards, Senator?”

Erskine’s eyes narrowed. Palpatine wasn’t one for small talk, and he certainly didn’t care much about Kuat. Well, maybe the shipyards were a valid concern for the Republic. Erskine wished they cared more about the planet’s inhabitants. 

“They’re fine. Fully operational, turning out new ships of the highest quality.”

“In a timely manner?”

“All current projects were on schedule the last time I checked.” Erskine had checked right before he came up, just in case Palpatine wanted to catch him off guard and make him look the fool. Palpatine seemed like the type to play those games. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how any of the other senators liked Palpatine. “Is there a reason you wanted to speak to me, Chancellor?”

“Yes, Senator,” Palpatine steepled his fingers, “I was wondering if perhaps we could work on a new shipbuilding project with one of the shipyards on Kuat. It would be a new fleet of ships for official Republic use.”

“Kuat already builds many of the Republic’s official ships, Chancellor,” Erskine said slowly.

“Ah. Not civilian ships, Senator. As you may have noticed, there has been trouble brewing in the Outer Rim for quite some time. Now, I don’t want to alarm anyone; that is why we’re discussing this privately. I just think, for the safety of the Republic, it wouldn’t hurt to manufacture a few more combat ships.”

“The Republic doesn’t have unified military.”

“Naboo has a special guard. I plan to consult with Queen Amidala about repurposing some of them to keep the peace in the Outer Rim.”

Erskine frowned. There was something that didn’t feel quite right about this conversation. If anyone was going to ‘keep the peace’ in the galaxy, it would be the Jedi. That was one of their major objectives, as far as Erskine understood it. 

“Chancellor, perhaps we should discuss galaxy-wide peace with the rest of the Senators the next time the Senate convenes,” Erskine suggested. 

“As I said, Senator Ravel, I do not wish to alarm anyone,” Palpatine said, his thin lips turning into a slight frown. He looked down his nose at Erskine. “I would appreciate your cooperation, Senator, but I can always go to your king. He seems very keen on continued peace.”

Erskine had the distinct sense that Palpatine was threatening his job, and maybe his life. Kuat’s king, a man called Eachan Meritorious, was… paranoid. Many people assumed the formative defenses and security checks to get on Kuat were to protect the shipyards, and they were, to some extent, but they were also to give the king some peace of mind. After the man’s father was assassinated, he’d never been the same. 

If Palpatine, who undoubtedly knew someone in Meritorious’ inner circle, started a rumor that Erskine was an upstart in any way, shape, or form… that was definitely a thinly veiled threat on his life. All the more reason not to like Palpatine. Manipulative bastard. 

Erskine put on his most charming smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Chancellor. Interplanetary relations is my job. It would be best that His Majesty worry only about Kuat.”

“Excellent,” Palpatine said, “Then I trust you’ll contact one of the shipyards about this, subtly and soon?”

“Of course, Chancellor.” He stood up from his chair and shook Palpatine’s hand. The hand was dry, almost flakey. Erskine tried not to grimace. 

As Erskine left Palpatine’s office, he wondered if it would have been a more noble choice to simply die a supposed traitor than to do shady dealings with the devil. But then, who would be around to defend Kuat in the unforgiving world of galactic politics?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Senator Erskine is still one of my favorite things I've written. And also, we have some Padmé Amidala drinking too much wine, which is not exactly in character but... she deserves to live a little, too, before she's murdered by her husband (I swear do not give me any of that broken heart bull I will fight you). 
> 
> Anywayyy this chapter might seem a bit fillery but I enjoyed writing it and I think you'll enjoy reading it (I hope)

24 BBY, Coruscant, Senate District Housing 

Her name was Padmé Amidala, and she was sitting on his couch, drinking his wine. Emerald wine, actually, from Lothal. Imported. Expensive. Erskine wasn’t one to share his wines - he was quite the connoisseur of them, collected them from all over the galaxy. He drank a glass every night, almost religiously, after dinner. 

Padmé was on her third glass.

She was a new senator from Naboo. Naboo had a democratically elected monarchy, and Padmé herself had been queen for eight years. So she had political experience. Her homeworld had even been invaded during her queenship. And yet, no one ever taught her to hold her liquor, which was evident by her girlish giggling. Ah well, she was young. Twenty-two, if Erskine remembered correctly. She’d mentioned it upon their introduction a week ago. 

Only three years younger than Erskine himself, but the drinking age was lower on Kuat. Only sixteen for wine. He had almost ten years of experience on her. 

Padmé was giggling about something, some joke Erskine had told at least two minutes before. “Senator Amidala, perhaps you’ve had enough to drink,” he suggested, trying to make a grab for the wine glass. Padmé lifted it out of his reach. 

“But it’s delicious!”

“Yes, but Senator…”

Padmé went to take a sip of wine, then blinked and set it down on the table in front of the couch. “My apologies,” she said, sounding far more professional than she had a second ago. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to make the world come back into focus. 

“That’s alright, Senator,” said Erskine, plucking the glass from the table. “We all have a bit too much to drink from time to time.”

“It was still un-unprofessional of me,” she hiccuped. “I’m sorry, I may have to take my leave early.”

Erskine hoped she wouldn’t. Padmé was quite endearing. “If that’s what you want, I can walk you back to your apartments.”

Padmé shook her head as she stood up. “That's kind of you, Senator, but I believe I can make it down four flights of stairs on my own.”

Erskine beckoned one of his droids forward, a simple serving droid, but it could make it down four flights of stairs anyway. “NR-014, please accompany Senator Amidala to her chambers.”

“Senator Ravel-” she began to protest, but even as she did, she swayed.

“You're a little tipsy. Please, just let NR accompany you.” Although Erskine wished to go with her himself, he understood why she might prefer a droid. He would certainly not wish to be accused of trying to take advantage of anyone, let alone a fellow senator. 

Padmé eventually nodded in agreement, and after thanking Erskine for the drinks, she allowed NR escort her back to her apartments. NR returned not even ten minutes later, chirping that the lady had made it home quite safely. 

Erskine poured himself another drink.

***

In the morning, Erskine was awoken by his datapad pinging repeatedly with preset reminders for the coming day. That was normally what woke him up - it was his own version of an alarm. He checked his datapad to refresh himself on the day’s plan and noticed that he had a message from Hopeless. 

Hopeless was Erskine’s top assistant, and the only one that Erskine saw regularly. He typically delegated the minor tasks to the other assistants, Erskine assumed, since it was his job to focus on the major ones. 

Erskine had no idea where the name Hopeless came from - cruel parents or cruel kids, or perhaps a combination of both - but it had apparently stuck, as that was what Hopeless mentioned he preferred to be called right after he started working for Erskine. He had a real name, but Erskine couldn't remember it off the top of his head. He had a vague feeling that it was embarrassing, though. More embarrassing than Hopeless.

The message was something about the King. Apparently, he'd requested that Erskine seek an audience with him sometime within the next month. Hopeless wanted to know which events Erskine wanted to skip and reschedule to make a trip to Kuat possible. The man knew enough to recognize that Erskine couldn't just turn down Meritorious - and that was why he was top assistant. 

Erskine typed out a quick message back, telling him to see if there was anything they could do at the end of the month. He tried not to think about his conversation with Palpatine a few months back, when the chancellor had basically threatened to make a traitor of him if he didn't bend his will - and that of Kuat’s shipyards - to the Republic. He hadn't exactly been very cooperative in the recent shipbuilding activities of Palpatine, despite his initial resolve to cooperate for his life - perhaps this was his punishment for trying to stonewall someone with more power than him.

There was no point in worrying about it now, though. The Senate was reassembling in all of three days, and Erskine had to prepare for that. He would deal with Meritorious at the end of the month. Besides, there was a possibility that he was summoning Erskine for some other reason. Maybe he wanted Erskine to present something regarding Kuat’s well being to the Sentate.

There was a knock on Erskine’s front door. He climbed out of bed and grabbed a fluffy robe from his hook, and then he went to let his stylist in, banishing worries of kings and chancellors from his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd we're back to Saracen and Dex. I will warn you guys, Dex is a little more OCC in this chapter than I usually like to make characters in AUs; however, worry not ~ he shall grown into himself.

24 BBY, Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Saracen wasn't supposed to be watching Dexter practice his forms, but then, Saracen wasn't very good at doing what he was supposed to, these days. Since the first dream about his mother and the darkness and leaving, he'd had many similar dreams - all with the same message. They troubled him, but he was still unable to bring himself to talk to Master Koth about them. Or anyone, really. 

He'd tried to tell Dexter once, but Dexter had thought he was kidding. Leave the Order? Good one, Saracen.

“You're projecting, Saracen,” Dexter called, not wavering for a moment as he went from one move to another. 

“Sorry,” Saracen said, tightening his mental shields. He had them up high all the time - never had he been interested in his peers peeking into his mind, but especially not now. But Dexter was the only other person in the room, and Saracen must’ve let them slip. A lot, if he was projecting his thoughts and emotions directly onto Dexter. 

Saracen hoped he was too focused on his movement to take note of exactly what Saracen was thinking about.

“Don't looked so stricken,” Dexter said after a few minutes of silence, during which Dexter finished practicing the form he'd choosen to study today - Soresu, Saracen noticed. He deactivated his lightsaber, the glowing green blade zipping back toward the hilt and disappearing altogether. “You weren't projecting any specific thoughts, but… something’s troubling you.”

“Dex-”

“Saracen-”

They spoke at the same time, realized what they'd done, and laughed. It felt nice to laugh with his friend.

“If something’s wrong,” Dexter said quietly, “you can always tell me, you know.” 

“Aren't you supposed to say I've got to release my feelings into the Force?”

Dexter snorted. “The Force isn't the most comforting mother, as you very well know.” He exhaled heavily. “Eventually you'll have to tell her, but... I don't think she'd mind too much if you took your time with it.”

Dexter always spoke of the Force as if it were a single person, not part of every living thing in the galaxy. As such, he regarded it like he would regard, well, his own mother. Saracen recalled Dexter’s master, Master Swan, once saying that she feared that would be Dexter’s downfall - that he would expect it to love and protect him, when its purpose was beyond such things. Saracen also recalled how he wasn't supposed to have heard Master Swan make that remark.

“She might not mind,” Saracen agreed, “but Master Koth will, if he senses my emotions like you did.”

“Ah, she just told me because she was worried about you,” Dexter dismissed, still referring to the Force. “She won't tell Koth; I doubt she likes him anyway…”

“If she's the Force, and he's a Force Sensitive, I think that means she likes him, Dex.”

“Not true. It means she tolerates him.”

Saracen laughed. “How do you explain Siths, then, hmm?”

Dexter seemed to genuinely consider the question, which was so typically Dexter that Saracen found the gesture endearing. “Kidnappers,” he said finally. 

“Seriously?”

“Sure, Saracen,” Dexter said. “The Force is powerful, even on her own - that's why we have visions of the future and such. But… she's not perfect. Sometimes she's tricked.”

“Dexter,” Saracen said suddenly. “Why do you think of the Force like it's a goddess?” Saracen had never asked, always just went along calling the Force ‘she’ whenever he was with Dexter - honestly, it was hardly the weirdest thing that happened in the temple, but now he was curious. 

Dexter blinked. “Because she is.”

“We were never taught that-”

“Not here,” Dexter interrupted. “On my homeworld, that was what we believed. My… parents believed that. My mother was so happy that the Force had choosen me.”

“You're not supposed to clinge to the beliefs of a world you left when you were just a child, Dex,” Saracen said, knowing full well that he was being hypocritical. 

“I know. That's… why the masters don't like it. But the Force. She doesn't care too much about what you're supposed to do, Saracen. She cares more about what you need to do.”

Dexter looked uncharacteristically serious. He liked to make jokes and work out and meditate - two of which made him a good little Padawan - but he didn't often get serious about things. Even when he talked about the Force like she was his mother, he always did so with a little smile. That actually had made people think it was some kind of joke, now that Saracen gave it some thought. Which was probably why he didn't get in too much trouble for it.

But he wasn't joking now. He believed the Force to be his mother-goddess. He believed in her - did he believe in the Order, though? 

“Dexter… remember when I told you that I had a dream about my mother telling me to leave the Order?”

“Yes,” Dexter replied, but he didn't laugh at it this time. He frowned. “Why?” 

“Maybe that's what the Force needs me to do.”

“Saracen-” Dexter said, sighing.

“Do you believe in the Order? Do you believe in the Code?” 

Dexter was silent for a chillingly long time. Saracen was afraid he'd offended his best friend; that certainly hadn't been his intention. 

“I believe the Order is headed in the right direction. I may disagree with some aspects of it, but ultimately they do follow and respect the Force.”

“And the Code?”

“Needs some work.” 

Saracen laughed, and after a moment, Dexter laughed with him. 

“I never realized you thought so differently,” Saracen said, feeling vaguely guiltly, like there was a whole side of his friend he never knew.

“I don't normally make it obvious. Well. Except the whole referring to the Force in the feminine thing.”

“Everyone thinks you do that to piss off Master Swan.”

Dexter grinned, looking more like his usual self. “That is just a bonus.”

“You're so juvenile,” Saracen said, but he was grinning, too.

“Master Swan knows I respect her as my teacher. We just have… personality differences.”

“Such as?”

“I have one, and she doesn't.”

“Dex!”

“It's true!”

“Padawans,” came a stern voice from the doorway of the training room, and Saracen and Dexter both looked over to see Master Swan herself. 

“Master Swan,” they both replied, exchanging a look. Saracen had a feeling she'd heard the crack at her personality. 

“Dexter, you're supposed to be practicing your forms.”

“I was, but I-”

“No excuses.”

Dexter grumbled out a reluctant, “Yes, master.”

“And you, Saracen, should be with Master Koth.”

“He went to a council meeting-”

Master Swan gave him a sharp look. “It's over. It was over a half hour ago.”

Saracen opened his mouth to defend himself, but no words came out. That was probably for the best.

“I do not understand why you two cannot seem to do what you're supposed to-” she said, and there was that phrase again, supposed to, “-but you will not become Knights any time soon if you keep this up.”

“If Anakin Skywalker can become a Knight, then any of us can,” Dexter grumbled, and he received a glare for his comment. But, interestingly enough, Master Swan didn't correct him or scold him either.

“Saracen, go find Master Koth. Dexter, you had better show me some perfect forms over the next hour.”

Saracen gave a slight bow as he passed Master Swan and left the training room. The last thing he heard before the door slid shut behind him was the hum of Dexter’s lightsaber igniting.

Saracen had much to think about. Like what he was supposed to do versus what he needed to do.

He tightened his mental shields and went to search for Master Koth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Larrikin is my favorite, truly. And naturally, the name of the ship is a nod to a certain hotel...
> 
> Also, I know I normally update in the morning ~ sorry! It's still the first where I am, though, so I haven't broken my update schedule.

24 BBY, Outer Rim Territories, Midnight

The man who got Larrikin off Nar Shaddaa was called Anton Shudder, and his ship, her name was Midnight. Shudder wasn’t a very talkative guy, however, so that was about all Larrikin knew about him. He didn’t even know what planet they were headed to. 

When he was a child, Larrikin used to talk endlessly to fill the silence. His sisters used to let him. But that was a long time ago. 

“We’re going to Tatooine,” Shudder said, in Basic, coming out of the cockpit of the ship now that they were in hyperspace. Midnight only had a few separate rooms on her - the cockpit, a ‘fresher, Shudder’s private quarters, and a small common area where Larrikin set up a short cot. He had to curl up in a ball or else his legs would dangle off the end. 

“What’s that planet like?” asked Larrikin. 

“Hot. Dry.”

Larrikin wasn’t a fan of hot and dry. His homeworld was mostly ocean. He was in love with the water - Tatooine didn’t sound like a place that had a lot of water. He would never make it on a planet that didn’t have lakes, rivers, oceans.

“Why Tatooine?”

“Delivering goods for Hutts.”

Larrikin touched the back of his neck, and then when he noticed Shudder staring at him, tried to play it off like he was scratching his neck. “Which Hutts, exactly?”

“Why?”

“Ah, you know. Always good to know who’s in charge.”

“You’re lying. What did you-?” Shudder’s eyes widened so quickly that it would’ve been comical if Larrikin wasn’t positive that his new expression came with a damning revelation. “Take that jacket off.”

“Why, Shudder, I didn’t-” Larrikin tried, batting his eyelashes as he spoke. He didn’t get a chance to finish his thought, though. Shudder grabbed the lapel of his jacket and shoved him against the wall, which sent a jarring and uncomfortable sensation up and down his spine. That was twice that happened in a very short amount of time. Larrikin had a feeling that this wouldn’t end as well as it did with the pink humanoid. 

“What did you do?” Shudder growled. Larrikin could feel his breath on his face. It was hot. Larrikin didn’t want to die with hot smuggler breath in his face. In fact, he didn’t want to die at all. 

“I… I used to be a slave,” he admitted. “To a Hutt.”

Shudder stepped back, let go of him. Larrikin sank to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees. 

“Did they implant a tracking device in you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. They only… they only do that to slaves that try to run away and fail. That… when I escaped, that was my first attempt.” The only attempt anyone was allotted.

Shudder frowned. “That seems unnecessarily careless of them.”

“Have you ever actually met a Hutt? They’re arrogant. And… we’re all there for sport, anyway, in one way or another.”

“Which Hutt owned you?”

“Called Ebor. He’s dead.”

Shudder shook his head. “Ebor lives on Nar Shaddaa. He was alive when we left; he ordered this shipment.”

“No, trust me, he’s dead.”

Shudder leveled a hard look on him. Larrikin didn’t like being stuck under that stare. “Did you kill Ebor the Hutt?”

“...maybe.”

Shudder made a low grumbling noise under his breath that quickly escalated to a roar. He punched the side of the ship and actually left a dent in Midnight’s haul. Larrikin was impressed and kind of scared - he’d only seen someone do that in holofilms. 

“How the hell did you kill a Hutt?” he growled through grit teeth. 

“With a wine glass.”

“You… poisoned him?”

“No, I stabbed him. The glass was broken.”

“You…”

“It was a big wine glass.”

“Take your jacket off,” Shudder snapped, his voice still lower its normal speaking volume. Larrikin supposed he shouldn’t have exactly expected an award, but a pat on the back of his murderous creativity would’ve been nice. 

Larrikin stood up and took his jacket off. 

“Are you going to show me the tattoo, or am I going to have to find it myself?” Shudder asked.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“The Hutts brand all of their property, kid.” Yeah, Larrikin knew playing dumb was a long shot. 

“It’s on the back of my neck,” he said, tapping the base of his neck. He turned around and lifted his hair so that Shudder see the tattoo, the symbol of the Desilijic Hutts. Shudder ran a finger over it, which made a shiver run down Larrikin’s spine. 

“If it were anywhere else, I’d cut it off, but I would probably kill you if I tried. I can’t cart a piece of Hutt property across the galaxy, kid.”

“My name is Larrikin,” he said, his heart sinking. “Please, I-I’m a person. I’m not a piece of property.”

Shudder shook his head. “You are. You belong to the Hutts. I’m sorry. I’m leaving you on Tatooine. That’s the best I can do.” 

“Technically, the Hutt I belonged to is dead,” Larrikin pointed out weakly.

“All the more reason why I can't keep you,” Shudder said. 

“You can't deliver this shipment to Tatooine,” Larrikin said, a plan forming in the back of his mind. He grabbed Shudder’s arm to keep him from going back into the cockpit and was rewarded with a glare. Shudder was actually quite frightening, and Larrikin had to a swallow a mouthful of fear before he continued. “The Hutts might see you let me off. They'll think you were involved with Ebor’s death, too.”

Shudder considered this, and the conclusion he came to etched a deep frown onto his face. “I’ll drop you off on the way, then.”

“You can't do that either,” Larrikin protested quickly. 

Shudder wrenched his arm out of Larrikin’s grip. “It would be in your best interest to stop telling me what I can and can't do.”

“Right,” Larrikin gulped. “Well… but… the Hutts basically own the Outer Rim, don't they? You… probably shouldn't drop me off in their territory or word’ll get back to them.”

Shudder scowled. He seemed to think Larrikin was making a very good point. “I have a shipment that I was planning to take to Coruscant after I went to Tatooine... but I suppose I can take it there first.”

“Coruscant?” repeated Larrikin. The capitol of the entire galaxy? “That's great!”

Shudder didn't look quite so enthused. “You've never been.”

“Well, no, but it's a Core World, it's the capitol, so how bad can it be?”

“It has an undercity just like Nar Shadda. It’s just as messy. That is where you'll end up, Larrikin - not in the fancy high rises with the Chancellor.”

Larrikin’s heart sunk to hear of similarities between Nar Shadda and Coruscant, but at least there were no Hutts. And there was opportunity, he was certain. There had to be.

“I know that,” Larrikin said. “But it's better than some Hutt-filled desert.”

Shudder muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “That's debatable,” and headed off to adjust the ship’s course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about the tattoo on the back of Larrikin's neck? Follow the lovely link to see what it looks like: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Desilijic


	8. Chapter 8

24 BBY, Pamarthe, Twi’lek Isle

It had been a year since the integration of the Twi’leks (though Ghastly used the word “integration” lightly, as they kept to their own island most of the time). Ghastly and Tanith were they only humans they interacted with on a regular basis. The good news regarding that was Tanith didn't hate them anymore; in fact, she'd made friends with a Twi’lek female called Arani’ashk. Arani was one of the few purple Twi’leks in the group, and Tanith had asked her - politely - about her coloring, and the rest was history. 

Tanith still made remarks from time to time that made Ghastly cringe, but overall he was proud of his wife for working on moving on from her prejudices. 

Ghastly made monthly trips to see Skulduggery for the business of reporting on the Twi’leks and weekly trips to visit him as a friend. As far as Ghastly was aware, Skulduggery’s father was still mostly in the dark. He did not want to be around when it became clear to his father, but recognized that it was going to be his job to explain everything. 

“Ghast’bespoke,” Arani greeted early one morning as Ghastly was preparing to sail for Skulduggery’s island. Tanith separated Arani’s names into a first and last as humans do, so Arani decided it was only fair that she combined their names, like Twi’leks do. Although the second part of Twi’lek names, Ghastly had learned, was associated with a whole clan rather than a single family. 

“Good morning, Arani. Is something troubling you?” Her lekku were twitching, and her eyes were darting about.

“Yes,” she said. “The goddess. She says that a darkness is coming over the galaxy.”

Ghastly was vaguely aware of the goddess. He knew that not all Twi’leks worshipped her. He knew that this group of Twi’leks did, and he had a feeling that was the reason they were driven from wherever they had lived before. But the Twi’leks were a private bunch (much to his surprise), so he didn't know much more. 

“A darkness?” Ghastly repeated. 

“Yes. She showed me the darkness. Be careful, Ghast’bespoke. I saw it take your Tanith’bespoke.”

“The darkness is going to take my wife?” 

Arani nodded gravely. “Be very careful. You should warn your prince.”

Ghastly wasn’t a religious man, although he respected the practices of people who were. He didn’t quite understand Arani’s connection to this supposed goddess, but if it would put her at peace, he could agree to mention it to Skulduggery.

“What do you know about this darkness?” asked Ghastly. Arani climbed down from one of the many rocky outcroppings that surrounded the docks and helped him to ready his ship. She didn’t speak for a long time, but Ghastly didn’t mind waiting until she was ready. It was a brand of patience neither his wife nor his best friend had. 

“It will come from the Core, and it will kill many. It will hang over the galaxy for decades,” she eventually responded. 

“Do the others know about this darkness?”

“Yes. We left our last home because no one wanted to believe us. But you must. You must. Please. Your wife is my friend. Both of you have shown us great kindness, and your prince, too. I can no longer stay silent, not with your lives on the line. Not with all of our lives on the line.” One of Arani’s purple lekku twitched nervously. Ghastly took this to mean that she feared he wouldn’t believe her.

He wasn’t sure if he did, but he certainly wasn’t about to dismiss her like her own had. “I will let Skulduggery know,” he said carefully. “When do you predict this darkness will be upon us?”

“Soon,” Arani warned, and the wind picked up ominously. A chill ran down Ghastly’s spine. What would they do if she was right?

***

Ghastly arrived on Skulduggery’s island late in the afternoon. Pamarthe’s orange sun was beginning to dip in the sky as he tied up his boat and climbed the stone steps to the palace. A servant held open the large side door for him, and Ghastly nodded his thanks. 

“Ghastly, my friend,” Skulduggery greeted as he waved off another servant. He spoke Pamarthen, and though it was Ghastly’s native language, he found that it sounded a bit foreign to his ears. He spoke mostly in Basic these days, as it was the language they had in common with the Twi’leks. He resolved to talk to Tanith in Pamarthe when they were at home. 

“Hello, Skulduggery. How are things?”

Skulduggery smiled, but it was twisted with some sadness. “Don’t be a stranger, Ghastly. Come and sit with me.” He sat down on a reddish couch. 

Ghastly took a seat beside him. “I visit you weekly; I’d hardly call that being a stranger.”

“Yes well, you used to live here.”

“You’re the one that relocated me,” Ghastly pointed out.

Skulduggery sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. A nervous habit of his, but Ghastly hadn’t seen him do it much since they were teenagers. Seeing the old gesture gave him the same foreboding feeling Arani’s warning had. 

“At times I wonder if that was a good idea. But then, the Twi’leks do need someone, and you and Tanith… you’re the best for that job.”

“What else is troubling you, Skulduggery?” Ghastly asked. 

Skulduggery raised an eyebrow at him, but he only feigned innocence for a moment. He sighed again, which did nothing to alleviate Ghastly’s concern. 

“There’s a war brewing,” Skulduggery told him. “I fear it will involve the entire galaxy. There are those who wish to see the Republic fall, and while I don’t always agree with what they do, I think it’s a far cry better than anarchy.”

“The darkness,” Ghastly mumbled, more to himself than to Skulduggery. This war must have been what Arani was referring to… right?

“What?”

“Arani’ashk came to me this morning and said that a darkness would fall over the galaxy soon. She said that a Twi’lek goddess told her about it, and she asked me to tell you about it. I would think war would constitute as a darkness.”

Skulduggery digested this new information. “You think her goddess really told her about impending war?” he said doubtfully. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen proof of her goddess, but then, I’ve never seen proof she doesn’t exist either. I just know that she’s very troubled by… the future.”

“Goddess or not, there is something coming,” Skulduggery said. “And we do need to be prepared. My father is already raising an army. I’d like you to ask the Twi’leks if any of them would like to join. And tell Arani’ashk that I appreciate her warning.”

“I will. Skulduggery, she said that the darkness would hang over the galaxy for decades.”

Skulduggery looked away. “I hope her goddess is wrong, then,” he said quietly. In that moment, however, Ghastly knew that they both understood that Arani was far too right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think the Twi'leks' goddess is the same as Dexter's? Are they both the Force? I'm curious to hear what you guys think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update of the day!
> 
> (Second will come before midnight, I promise! ~ midnight central european time, that is.)

24 BBY, Kuat, Kuat’s Shipyards

After a very awkward dinner and sickening dessert that was served with a side of reprimand, Erskine was glad to take his leave from his King’s palace. The palace was, naturally, planetside, but Erskine used one of the smaller ships available to take himself to the artificial ring around Kuat that housed the shipbuilding sectors. 

The majority of the planet’s shipbuilding enterprise was run by one company, Kuat Drive Yards, with the royal family naturally having a stake in it. But all the contributors and bigwigs lived in luxurious homes planetside. Erskine was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he went to the shipbuilding sector because he knew he’d be the most politically and socially powerful person on the ring. It was something that he didn’t have on Kuat or Coruscant, despite everything he’d worked for, and he relished the idea of pretending to have authority for ten seconds. 

He wondered at times why he became a senator. The Chancellor certainly didn’t like him (and the feeling was mutual), and his King apparently didn’t like him… Not that it was a popularity contest, just that it was so difficult to get anything done without their approval. 

Erskine stepped off the ship and onto the docking bay. There were droids everywhere, working on various projects, but there were few biological species around. Erskine found he was quite alright with that. 

He wandered away from the bay. He just wanted a place to think, a place to be in control…

“Have you been contradicting the marvelous and generous Chancellor Palpatine?” asked King Meritorious. 

Erskine had told him, no, he hadn't, which was the godsdamn truth, but of course his King didn't believe him. Palpatine was playing with him… those the reason why he'd waste time on such a thing eluded Erskine. Had he not already acquiesced to Palpatine’s wishes?

“Hey, mista, you alright over there?” snapped a masculine voice in Basic. Erskine looked up abruptly, ripped from his thoughts. He saw a group of workers that consisted of four or five different biological species taking a break. There were twenty or so of them in all. So much for the area being droids only - maybe they were taking their lunch break, then?

“I'm fine,” Erskine replied tersely. 

“Yous really ain't supposed t’ be loiterin’ round here, mista,” another voice said. This one was distinctly human. 

“Sorry,” Erskine muttered and started to walk away. 

“Wait!” said an orangish creature - a Togruta. “You look like a big-wig or something-”

Erskine took a step back. He didn't have any credits or anything, but he was suddenly aware that his outfit was probably worth more than their yearly salaries (which made him feel guilty but also very nervous). 

“He ain't gonna rob ya, relax, Senator,” said another human. “He just wants t’ ramble bout his problems.” A murmur fell over the group that mostly consisted of “Senator?”

“Yous a Senator, pretty boy?” grunted a Bith. 

Erskine sighed. 

“I was talkin’,” the Togruta said mildly. He must’ve been in charge or something because the chatter died down. 

“Mista Senator, you know there's somethin’ comin’,” the Togruta said. 

“What do you mean?” Erskine asked cautiously. Were they referring to the impending war hanging over the galaxy? Erskine reflected that he probably should’ve been thinking about that as oppose to his personal problems with his superior problems. He wondered when they were going to discuss that in the Senate - this growing Separatist movement that was picking up steam in the Outer Rim. 

“You from Kuat, Senator? Born and raised here?” the Togruta asked instead of answering. 

“On the Top Eastern,” Erskine confirmed with the region he was born in, which caused another murmur to fall over the group. The Togruta, however, nodded like he already knew. His striped lekku bobbed along with his wrinkled head. He probably did already know - it wasn't like Erskine’s life was a secret.

“You know Kuat’s importance?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I'd be wary of the Republic if I was you, Senator,” warned the Togruta, although he sounded like he was just talking about the weather. 

Erskine didn't like the sound of that. Whatever issues he had with certain leadership, Erskine was still very loyal to the Republic and her ideas. He wasn't about to start supporting this uprising, if that's what these men were suggesting. 

“Why?” Still, he was interested in why they thought that way. They were the people he was supposed to be representing, anyway.

The Togruta shrugged. “It’s been poisoned. What’s it they say on your homeworld, Jlon?” 

“Never eat the green tubers?” said a human.

“No,” disagreed the other human. “The road teh hell was paved with good intentions. That's the one.”

“That's it,” the Togruta said. “Means sometimes we try to do what's right, and it comes out all bungled. Mista Senator, I ain't got nothin’ against the Republic. If I did, I'd have let Crazy Malik jump ya.” 

A Cerean looked up at him. Cereans looked fairly human, except they had giant foreheads. He had a crazied look in his dark eyes, Erskine could see it even from his distance. He took another step back from the group. 

“But Senator, I think ya really want what's best for your planet. So I'm warnin’ ya - for your sake and Kuat’s.”

“Your warning is rather cryptic,” Erskine said, suddenly very aware of how much his accent had change from all of his time on Coruscant. He felt like an outsider on his own planet. 

The Togruta didn't seem to notice his depressing realization. “It's all I can do for you.” And then he turned to the group and said something in another language - Bocce maybe. They all got up and cleared out, seemingly going back to work.

They left him there with more than enough to think about, and Erskine wandered back to his ship feeling worse than when he'd landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is being warned... I'm not subtle am I?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Woo-hoo for double update!

24 BBY, Coruscant, Undercity 

Larrikin hated ecumenopolis planets. Seriously, whose great idea was it to make entire planets and moons into giant, endless cities? They were a moron, whoever they were. Larrikin would beat them down if he could. 

Shudder dropped him off - basically kicked him off Midnight, actually - on the port just outside of the Senate side of the city. Planet. Well, the whole planet was a city. So. 

Shudder had been nice enough to give him some credits before telling him to fuck off. And now he was wandering around in the slums because he didn't even have a shirt (still!) and would probably be shot on sight for crawling up where the rich could see. 

Larrikin stuck his hands in his pockets and reflected that this was a lot like his day on Nar Shadda. Except with less Hutts. Larrikin was glad there were less Hutts. 

He walked by an alleyway and watched a grotesque-looking creature bitchslap a red Twi’lek. Just like Nar Shadda. 

“Why don't you leave her alone?” drawled Larrikin. The creature looked vaguely like an elephant with warts. Larrikin had never seen an elephant in real life, but he recalled one of the other slaves telling an animated and surprisingly detailed story about them when he belonged to the Hutts. 

It shifted its beady eyes to Larrikin and started shouting at him in some guttural language. He sounded a bit like he had a bad cough. The red Twi’lek pressed herself against the wall of a dirty building

“Ey, how about you fuck off?” Larrikin said. 

It kept grumbling and groaning. Larrikin wasn't sure exactly why he was standing up for this Twi’lek. 

“You can go,” the Twi’lek mouthed. Larrikin shook his head. 

The elephantish thing took a step forward, the ground shaking a little as it threw around it's substantial weight. Larrikin wasn't all that intimidated - he could definitely outrun the colossal pimp if required. 

It took another thunderous step, and Larrikin decided that running probably was their best course of action. Of course, he had to get the Twi’lek girl to run. He didn't know the circumstances under which she was a prostitute, so he wasn't exactly sure she'd come with him if he just told her to run. As of now, she was still trying to blend into the wall. It wasn't an easy task, considering she was red. Maybe if her skin was green, she would've had a chance. There was some sickly green… something stuck to that wall. Larrikin wanted to believe it was a plant, but it probably wasn't. 

“You know,” he said casually as the wartyphant took another lumbering step. Gods, but it was slow. How did it manage to keep Twi’leks in line? More evidence toward the theory that she was working for it by necessity rather than force. “You could run off right now.”

“There are others,” she said with a shake her head. “They'll come after me.”

“Ah, they won't bother you if you're with me,” Larrikin dismissed. Strength in numbers was the motto on his homeworld. Perhaps he could actually live rather than just survive if he had some friends. Larrikin pretended that was his reasoning for helping the Twi’lek. 

“No offense, but you're a skinny human. They would kill you,” she said. Their gargantuan “friend” took its fourth step. He was nearly halfway to where Larrikin was standing. 

“No… I'm a… Jedi,” Larrikin lied. When on Coruscant, Larrikin supposed, go native. He frowned to himself. The Jedi were based on Coruscant, weren't they? He thought they were, but then again, all he knew about Jedi were the whispers that made their way to the Outer Rim. 

“A Jedi?” the Twi’lek repeated, her voice raising and her eyes widening. The elephant creature roared at her, and she sunk back against the wall again.

“Yep,” Larrikin said. He took a few steps back to buy them more time. Seriously, this elephantish thing needed to invest in a blaster. Although, he supposed people were probably intimidated enough by its appearance that it never had to actually follow through on the threat its appearance implied.

“You don't look like a Jedi.”

“I'm undercover.”

“And you're helping me because…?”

“That's what we do.” Or so rumor had it.

“Jedi don't help random whores.”

“This one does.”

The Twi’lek frowned, but she made to step toward Larrikin. The elephant creature swung around unexpectedly and crashed into her with its side. Larrikin winced as she bounced off of it on to the disgusting ground. She should’ve really given it a wider berth. 

Larrikin sighed. He felt obligated to follow through at this point, especially since she'd made a move to leave. He darted forward and grabbed her by her right arm, hauling her up and attempting to yank her from the alleyway. The elephant creature, however, had other plans, and when her left arm flailed as she was pulled to her feet, he snatched it. 

“He's got my arm!” she shrieked. Huh. So it was male. Larrikin wondered if it was possible for the females of his species could be uglier than him, but then he remembered that the attractiveness of elephant creatures wasn't important at the moment.

“Let her go!” Larrikin shouted. 

“Please, please, let me go,” blubbered the Twi’lek. 

The elephant tugged on her arm and took both Larrikin and the red Twi’lek off their feet. They landed in a jumbled heap of limbs in front of it - him. The Twi’lek screamed. Larrikin had to admit, the elephant creature looked frightening from his new position on the festering floor. He had the feeling that one of those thick, grey hoof-feet was going to snap his neck like a twig. 

Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about the Hutts if he was dead.

The elephant creature lifted a hoof-foot, the Twi’lek’s arm still grasped in a meaty hand. yanked her up be her arm to draw her out of the way so he could step on Larrikin, and Larrikin was sure he heard her shoulder pop out of the socket as she went up. She hung by her arm, limp as a ragdoll. 

The hoof-foot came down excruciatingly slow. If Larrikin wasn't surrounded by limp Twi’lek, he probably could've escaped. As it was, he didn't want the elephant creature to throw her at him if he tried to run. And besides, he realized that not having to deal with any Hutts was a very valid and positive side effect of death. 

And then there was a low humming and a flash of purple, and the elephant creature's hoof-foot was gone. Larrikin stared at the remaining stump, which glowed golden-red with heat for a fraction of a second, cauterizing the wound instantly. Larrikin was grateful for that - the last thing he wanted was random blood spattering all over his face. He was already gross enough from lying on the ground in an Undercity back alley. 

All of this happened in about a second. And then the elephant creature was tipping backwards with a frantic cry, and the purple whipped in again and took the elephant creature’s head. Its corpse slammed against the ground, causing a minor earthquake (in Larrikin’s perspective anyway).

Larrikin sat up to see the Twi’lek girl gently removing her arm from the elephant creature's lifeless fingers. She sobbed, fat tears running down her face. Tears of pain or relief, Larrikin wasn't sure. Probably both. 

Larrikin looked around for the source of the deadly purple. Behind him, further in the alley were two human men - one of which was brandishing a glowing purple saber. A lightsaber. The other man didn't have a saber in hand, but he was dressed similarly to his shorter companion. Both wore plain brown robes, and each had a small piece of their hair in a little braid. 

The man with the purple lightsaber had dark hair and brown eyes - and a rather intense expression. He was breathing heavily, but Larrikin supposed that made sense. He had just killed someone. The other man was a bit tall, and lighter in appearance. His hair was blond, and his eyes were green, and he was very handsome. Larrikin smiled reflexively when rested his gaze on the blond.

“Jedi,” the Twi’lek whispered behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're going to say, and the answer is, yes, I'm aware Twi'leks aren't the only other creatures in the galaxy besides humans. But I like Twi'leks ~ so there. You've been Twi'leked.
> 
> (Also who could those two mysterious Jedi saviors be? Who could they be? Who knows? It's not like they resemble anyone...)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I expected, but I think it's important to the plot. Some questions I left unanswered last chapter are answered here ~ and I think we're making plot progress (which is always the goal right).

24 BBY, Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Saracen woke abruptly. 

The dreams that plagued him were generally similar - his mother, his childhood home,  _ the darkness _ . But this most recent one was different. Saracen could barely remember it. Dark. It’d been dark. He couldn’t see anything. Perhaps a more literal warning of the darkness to come? 

_ Go. _

Saracen looked around his room. He could’ve sworn he’d heard someone say something. He climbed out of bed and crept into the hall. Master Koth was asleep, so Saracen stayed silent and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and drained it. He was going to head back to bed, but then he heard movement toward the door. 

Saracen’s eyes flickered in the direction of the bedrooms, but instead of trying to wake his Master, he made his way to the door as quietly as possible. Which was quite an easy task - Saracen was trained to be quiet. 

Dexter stood in front of the door, fully dressed. Saracen’s eyes fell on his lightsaber, which was hooked to his belt, and then he raised an eyebrow in the dim light. Dexter just raised one of his in return. Saracen nodded and went back to his room, periodically checking to make sure Master Koth was still sound asleep. He got dressed, grabbed his own lightsaber off its shelf, and returned to where Dexter was waiting. 

They walked out of the living quarters without a word. It required a little finesse to sneak past the night guards at the entrance of the Temple, but Saracen and Dexter managed it. And still, no discussion. Saracen would readily admit he had no idea what Dexter wanted or what they were doing now that they were outside the Temple, but Dexter was his best friend. Saracen trusted him. 

“What’s this about?” he asked when they’d left the Temple behind to stroll into the nearest city district. 

“You were right,” Dexter said. “I had a dream a couple nights ago. It was… horrific. The Temple was on fire, all the Younglings were dead… I told the Council about it, and they… well, let’s just say they didn’t take me seriously.”

“And you’re sure it was a vision?” 

“It was so real, Saracen. And she spoke to me. She told me to go.” Saracen recalled the voice he heard when he woke up.  _ Go.  _

“She said the same thing to me,” Saracen said, and he felt Dexter staring at him. 

“Well, let’s go then.”

***

24 BBY, Coruscant, Undercity

Wandering around in the Undercity wasn’t the best plan Saracen and Dexter had, but at least they had the Force to help redirect anyone who looked like they wanted trouble. Saracen wasn’t sure how the average person survived down there, but then again, he supposed that they had to adapt or they wouldn’t survive at all. 

“We don’t have any money,” Dexter commented. There wasn’t anything they could do about that. Padawans only had credits on them when they were given some for a mission. There was no need for money in the Temple. What would they do with it? Pay for lessons?

“I’m aware.”

“I don’t really want to rob anyone…”

“If we stay on-planet, they could very well find us.” Not that Saracen expected to be dragged back to the Order. That wasn’t the Jedi way - however, Saracen was unsure whether or not they’d let him and Dexter keep their lightsabers. Probably not. They wouldn’t want anyone they thought could fall to the dark side to have a lightsaber, although Saracen and Dexter both knew how to make them. It was a time consuming process, and Saracen didn’t relish doing it again anytime soon. More importantly, though - his lightsaber was an extension of him. He’d probably feel its loss like that of a limb.

“I know. I don’t really want that to happen, either.”

“Maybe we can talk our way onto a ship?”

Saracen snorted. “Or coerce our way, sure.”

Dexter looked a little uneasy, but no less determined. They walked through the slums, and Saracen stepped on something disgusting and gooey. Dexter began to ask  _ what the hell _ it was, but Saracen stopped him in his proverbial tracks. He didn’t want to think about it. He’d need a new pair of shoes, probably. Gross.  

They went past festering alleyways and shady dealings, but they kept their heads down and didn’t get involved. Drugs and prostitution were not their jurisdiction. Nothing was their jurisdiction. They were teenagers with glowy laser swords and a vague understanding of the Powers Beyond, not vigilante heroes of the night.

But eventually they came across a scene that they couldn’t ignore. There was a giant Chevin - a large and wrinkly species that Saracen recognized from his studies - manhandling a Twi’lek and trying to step on the head of a human that couldn’t be much older than Saracen and Dexter. 

Saracen’s lightsaber was in his hands before he had time to consider the consequences of his actions. He ignited it and chopped - rather sloppily, the Masters would’ve gotten onto him about that - off the leg that was threatening the human. The Chevin lost its balance along with its limb, and as it fell, Saracen sliced at its head, cutting it clean off and severing the snout that hung down from its face in half. 

The Masters wouldn’t approve of the murder he just committed, either, he thought dully. They definitely had to get off the planet now. 

The Twi’lek and the human both managed to disentangle themselves from the Chevin’s corpse. The Twi’lek murmured the word  _ Jedi _ , and wasn’t that just great? Granted, this close to the Temple, it was no surprise people knew the Jedi on-sight.

“What the hell was that?” Dexter demanded, shaking his head as if to clear the shock from it. 

“He was going to kill them,” Saracen said. “Right?” He glanced at the human.

The human - man - sat up and brushed himself off with a grimace. “He was at least going to kill me,” the man said with an accent Saracen couldn’t place. He’d been off Coruscant a few times with Master Koth, but he hadn’t been beyond Mid-Rim. If the man was from any farther planet - and from the looks of him, he was - Saracen wouldn’t be able to begin to guess which one. 

“He probably would’ve killed me, too,” said the Twi’lek softly. She had tears running down her red face. “So thank you. You save us.”

“And you killed someone else,” Dexter added. “Which was unnecessary.”

“It was a reflex,” Saracen said, which was a horrible defense.

“Oh yeah? You  _ reflexively killed someone _ ? That’s pretty fucking bad, Saracen.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, confiscate my lightsaber?”

“I might.”

“You’ll have to take it from me,” challenged Saracen, not because he wanted to fight Dexter but because he thought it would get Dexter to step back and calm down. 

Instead, Dexter grabbed his own lightsaber and ignited it. The green glow of the blade glinted off his eyes, and Saracen saw a look in them that he’d never seen before. Saracen had gone too far - he’d willingly admit that - but where had  _ Dexter _ gone in that moment?

“Ladies, please, you’re both pretty,” said the man, scrambling to his feet and stepping between them. He was very brave and very stupid to step between two Force sensitives with lightsabers in their hands, but miraculously, it caused Saracen and Dexter both to step back and put their weapons away - after the ten extremely ten seconds of consideration. 

“I thought they were male?” questioned the Twi’lek. She was still sitting on the ground, and she was still crying, but now she also looked confused. 

That caused Saracen, Dexter, and the man to burst into sudden laughter. Saracen couldn’t quite think of a better tension breaker. “We are,” Dexter said. “He was just trying to make a joke.”

“Trying? I was  _ succeeding _ ,” the man said, acting exaggeratedly affronted. “I’m Larrikin,” he added.

“Saracen,” Saracen motioned to himself, “and Dexter.”

“What’s your name?” Larrikin asked, turning to the Twi’lek. Saracen frowned. He’d assumed they knew each other, that they’d done something to get themselves into trouble together. 

The Twi’lek considered the question. “Well, he called me Cherry,” she said slowly. 

“Cherry?” repeated Larrikin. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a small red fruit from Naboo,” Dexter offered, and all three of them looked at him. Saracen had no idea how he knew that - they didn’t get a lot of exotic fruit in the Temple cafeteria.  “What? I like plants.”

“I’m going to pretend that isn’t weird,” Larrikin said, turning back to Cherry. “Did you have a different name before he owned you?”

The Twi’lek shrugged. “If I did, I don’t remember it. I guess you can just call me Cherry, too, then.”

“Cherry it is,” said Larrikin. “Now that we’ve all properly introduced ourselves… what are we going to do now?”

Saracen looked around the alleyway, his eyes quickly roving away from the Chevin he’d murdered. What were they going to do, indeed?

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real question is how much of the Pamarthen and Rylothian cultures did I make up and how much of it came from the Star Wars Wiki. 
> 
> (I seriously did not expect Twi'leks to be so important when I started this, but now they're pretty crucial to the story.)

24 BBY, Pamarthe, Twi’lek Isle

Arani’ashk said nothing more about her goddess’ warnings. She didn’t ask Ghastly if he told Skulduggery about it. She didn’t say anything about it to Tanith. She acted like nothing was wrong, to the point where Ghastly began to wonder if he’d missed something during their conversation by the docks, or even if he’d just imagined it. 

A few months after the affair, Ghastly considered asking her about it. She was coming over for dinner that night. Tanith said that she’d promised to make a Twi’lek delicacy for them, which Tanith was both excited and apprehensive about.

Arani showed up late in the afternoon - earlier than the Pamarthens ate, but what Ghastly and Tanith had learned was typical Twi’lek dinnertime. Ghastly directed her to the kitchen immediately when she arrived - Tanith was in there, no doubt making drinks, and Arani had a covered dish with her (presumably the delicacy she’d promised). 

“You’ve got to try Port in the Storm,” Tanith was saying when Ghastly made his way into the kitchen. 

“I have heard of that. Your dangerous wine.”

Tanith laughed, but Ghastly found Arani’s description to be quite accurate. Port in the Storm was the strongest wine - possibly the strongest alcoholic beverage - in the galaxy. There was a rumor that only Pamarthens were able to drink it without being knocked on their ass, and as far as Ghastly knew, that rumor was quite right. 

“Are you trying to get her drunk, Tanith?” Ghastly asked, and Tanith winked at him. Arani saw the entire exchanged, but didn’t look as if she understood it. Ghastly knew she was born and raised on the Twi’lek homeworld of Ryloth, and therefore didn’t have much experience with other sentient species. 

However, Arani didn’t ask. She was content with not understanding their “human ways.” Some of the other Twi’leks asked questions about everything, but not Arani. Ghastly had the distinct feeling that she learned by observing. 

“I would try a small amount. I do not like the sound of this… ‘getting drunk.’”

“Do Twi’leks get drunk?” Tanith asked, and when Arani explained that she was unfamiliar with the term in Basic, Tanith launched into a description of the feeling of being muddled and muted by alcohol. Ghastly himself didn’t find drinking to be all that pleasant, but with Tanith and Skulduggery both thoroughly enjoyed activity, so he was occasionally roped into it. Luckily, Tanith had Arani to pressure tonight, not him. 

“I am familiar with this feeling,” Arani commented after Tanith finished her description (which basically could be summarized as “free, euphoric, and weightless” - she forgot  _ awful _ the next day). “We have a drink on Ryloth that does something similar. It is called  _ Maa’liq _ . It makes our lekku very sensitive.”

Tanith handed her a glass with a couple ounces of Port in the Storm in it. Arani took a minuscule sip, and her eyes widened considerably. “Do you have water?” she asked.

Ghastly chuckled and poured her a glass of water, and Tanith plucked the Port in the Storm from her fingers. Arani sipped the water far more liberally than her last drink. 

“So what did you make for us?” Tanith asked. 

“I have made rycrit stew. Rycrits are pack mammals from my home planet, and when my people left, we brought a large of amount of dried rycrit meat. It is our main source of protein. This version of the stew is not traditional, however, because most of the vegetables available on Pamarthe are very different from those of Ryloth. I am afraid only the title ingredient is authentic.”

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” said Ghastly. Arani smiled serenely. 

“I do hope so.”

After a bit more small talk about the weather and what Arani and some of the other Twi’leks have been up to lately (apparently they’re constructing a shrine to their goddess, which reminded Ghastly that he needed to talk to her), the three of them made their way to the dinner table. The stew was, indeed, delicious - it had a rich, thick broth, a variation of colorful vegetables, and if Arani hadn’t mentioned that the meat had been dried, Ghastly would’ve sworn it was fresh.  

“It’s amazing!” Tanith exclaimed after a few spoonfuls. 

“Thank you, I am very happy you like it.”

“The meat is really tender.”

“Yes, it takes many days to rehydrate it, but it is worth the wait, as you would say.”

“How long have Twi’leks been eating rycrits?” Ghastly asked, and it wasn’t a question he would’ve proposed to just anyone, but he had a feeling Arani knew the answer. 

“Millennia, Ghast’bespoke. Since before the Republic. Before interplanetary travel. Back when we foolishly assumed that we were a lone sentience. We have a myth about the first hunt of the rycrits, actually.”

“Yeah?” Tanith seemed interested, and Ghastly was interested, so Arani continued. Ghastly found the more he learned about the Twi’leks’ culture, the easier it was to get on with them and understand them. He was always eager to keep their relations smooth - in part because he made a promise to Skulduggery, but also because he quite liked their presence most of the time. 

“We have a mother goddess, I have mentioned her many times, although today it is unfortunately true that many Twi’leks believe her to be a children’s story. However, it is said that she created us, and every other creature on our home planet. Every being was created to be like a child to her, to praise her and be cherished by her in equal measure. We, the Twi’leks, were the best at following her will, and so she favored us.

At this time, all creatures on Ryloth were entirely sentient. They were aware of life beyond breeding and surviving as many successful species throughout the galaxy are today. Thus, they were capable of growing envious of us, the Twi’leks, and none were more filled with envy than the Rycrits. They were large and brutish creatures, they still are, and so instead of changing their methods of devotion, they began to kill off the Twi’leks. They enlisted other creatures to aid them until every species on Ryloth was at war with the Twi’leks.

Our mother goddess was not pleased with this turn of events, to say the least. In her wrath, she took their sentience, and with it, their ability to feel certain emotions, such as envy. She wished to punish the Rycrits far greater than the rest of the creatures, as they had started the war, and so she taught us, the Twi’leks, to hunt. No longer were we herbivores. We quickly developed a taste for rycrit meat. The goddess, she was satisfied with this arrangement, and balance was restored to our planet.” 

“How were the Twi’leks so much better at worshipping than the other species?” Tanith asked. 

“We had more faith in what we could not always see. Today, however, we have become as ignorant as the food in our bowls. It is a sad state.”

“If… you don’t mind me asking, is it hard to worship your goddess without being on Ryloth?”

Ghastly worried for a beat that Arani might be offended by Tanith’s question, but then she replied, “Not at all. The goddess, we have learned, is all around us. She goes with us. She stretches across the galaxy. Many other species know her. Some humans, like yourselves.”

Dinner continued, but the topic of conversation switched to the various religions practiced on Pamarthe, none of which had a goddess centerfold. After dinner, Tanith excused herself to use the refresher, and Ghastly took that opportunity to shift the conversation back to the Twi’lek goddess. 

“Arani, has your goddess given any more warnings?”

“More of the same. She is shouting it across the galaxy, I am sure. Certainly I am not the only one to have heard her, to have acknowledged her call.” She blinked slowly up at Ghastly. “You did not believe me when I spoke to you on the docks. What has changed your mind?”

Ghastly didn’t think he was allowed to discuss the looming threat of war, and besides, he hadn’t mentioned it to his wife yet. He thought that he should probably talk to her about it before he discussed it with anyone outside of Skulduggery. Fortunately, Arani seemed to sense this. 

“You cannot tell me. I understand. As long as you are vigilant.”

“We’re keeping an eye out, Arani. Thank you… for your warning.”

“Ghast’bespoke, the goddess has not said more about the darkness,” Arani said, and then she paused and looked as if she was considering something quite seriously. “But she did say that your destiny is far beyond here. That you will leave Pamarthe. That you will leave us.”

“Why would I-”

“I do not know,” Arani said. “I simply thought you should be aware. Cherish your time on your home planet. You will not be allowed to stay. I do not think anyone with a great destiny ever is,” said Arani. Ghastly didn’t know if she sounded wise or confusing, but he couldn’t miss the ominous tone in which she spoke. 

~~~~  
Tanith appeared before he could ask for any clarity, though. “What did I miss?” she asked with a bright smile, and Ghastly wondered how much time they truly had left together. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a day late - sorry! It was unavoidable, however, everything's back on track now.

23 BBY, Outer Rim Territories, the Snowbird

Larrikin was proud of his ship-acquiring abilities, although neither of the Jedi guys wanted to hear about it. Larrikin got the impression that they thought he stole it, but Larrikin wasn't the smooth. The ship technically belonged to him now, and Larrikin was fine living off technicalities. 

Both Jedi guys were, however, wonderful pilots. They had razor sharp reflexes and worked in sync with one another. Larrikin wondered if flight school was part of Jedi training, or if these two were anomalies. He, though, that he wasn't going to get any straight answers about Jedi things - Cherry had only been asking hundreds of questions a day, and she wasn't receiving any answers. Which was quite impressive - Larrikin would've answered her by now, simply to get her to shut up. 

The ship Larrikin had certainly not stolen was called the Snowbird, and it was a hell of a junker. Small and rusty, Larrikin had been worried they wouldn't be able to get to the next planet over in it. But Saracen assured them that it was good enough, and here they were, not scattered across space with a bunch of metal parts yet, so Larrikin couldn't complain. 

The ship only had sleeping quarters for one, so they were sleeping in shifts, and right now it was Cherry’s turn to sleep. Larrikin liked Cherry, and he was glad he intervened on her behalf, but she talked more than he did. And that was saying something. 

Saracen, the shorter of the two Jedi (or Jedi-in training - they'd explained how they weren't exactly Jedi, but Larrikin had zoned out), was slumped in the copilot’s seat, dead to the world. Dexter, the other one, was prancing about the little floor space they had with his lightsaber out, slicing aggressively at nothing. Larrikin was curled up next to the wall, watching him. He seemed angry at something, some invisible enemy he could never reach. 

“Are you okay?” Larrikin asked. 

“I'm fine.” Dexter didn't waver in his movements. He swiped the green blade near the wall, and Larrikin cringed. If he actually hit the wall…

“I won't,” said Dexter. 

“Didn't know Jedi were mind-readers,” Larrikin said conversationally. 

“We try not to be, but you're projecting.” 

“Projecting?”

Dexter sighed, pressing some button on the hilt of his blade that caused it to retract. “You're thinking very loudly,” he explained, facing Larrikin now. “As you do everything else.”

“Sorry,” Larrikin mumbled, even though he wasn't. 

“No, you aren't,” said Dexter. “But you aren't as loud as Cherry, so at least you have that going for you.”

“Can only Jedi use those lightsabers?” Larrikin asked to keep himself from thinking about why he found it necessary to be so loud. 

“No. You could make your own, if you wanted.”

“How?” 

Dexter held up the lightsaber’s hilt. “First you have to make this. They're all individualized, but they have similar basic parts. They require a power cell and an emitter, along with a few other specifics.”

“But you just fashion the outside of metal?”

“Providing the metal is stable and fairly heat resistant.”

“And malleable, right?”

Dexter gave him a small smile. “Of course.”

“What makes the blade?”

“A kyber crystal in the center of the hilt. We get them from the caves on Ilum. I don't know of anywhere else where they're found naturally.”

“So… do you harvest a bunch of them and keep them in your Temple?” Larrikin asked. He had no idea where Ilum was, had never heard of it, but he didn't want to end the conversation by asking for Jedi trade secrets.

Dexter shook his head. “No, we're taken to Ilum to find our own.”

“Really?”

“Yes, before we become Padawans,” murmured Dexter. He toyed with his thin braid as he said this - Larrikin got the impression that it had something to do his Jedi training.

“Padawan is Jedi in-training, right?”

“Basically.”

“So… you make your own lightsaber and then you become a Padawan?” 

Dexter shook his head. “It's more complicated than that. There has to be someone available to train you. You have to prove yourself throughout your childhood.”

Larrikin raised an eyebrow. “Prove yourself?”

“Complicated.”

“Right,” Larrikin drawled. “How old were you when you made your lightsaber?”

“Fourteen.”

Larrikin eyed the saber. It didn't look like it was simple to craft, but then perhaps the older Jedi helped them? “How old are you now?” 

“Seventeen or eighteen,” he said. 

Larrikin grinned. He would've never guessed that Dexter and Saracen were younger than him, but he was something more like twenty standard years. On his homeworld, he was twenty-two, but Tion’s year was shorter than the year the Senate set across the galaxy. He knew exactly how old he was in Tionese years - he could calculate it down to the hour if he wanted. His next birthday was in a few months.

“You know the day of your birth?” Dexter asked. Larrikin wished he'd stop doing that - it was disturbing. 

“On my homeworld’s calendar. Haven't bothered to translate it onto the standard calendar.”

“You're from out here - the Outer Rim.”

Larrikin nodded. “Where are you from?”

Dexter frowned, and his face twisted with confliction for just a moment before he answered, “Coruscant.”

Larrikin almost accused him of lying, but Dexter shot the words from his mouth with a glare. “Um. So, could you teach me how to make and use a lightsaber?” he asked instead. He figured it would be a useful skill if the Hutts ever caught up to him. When the Hutts caught up to him. 

Dexter’s eyes narrowed to slits, and Larrikin suddenly remembered that none of his new acquaintances knew about that. Only Anton knew. Larrikin was kind of surprised to realize he felt a bit wistful and sad at the thought of Anton. 

“Why would the Hutts try to catch you?” Dexter asked, voice low.

Larrikin touched the back of his neck. “I used to belong to one of them.”

“You were a slave?”

“Just for a year. I've been free for over a year now, I think.” 

“You're important enough to them that they'll try and take you back?”

Larrikin tried not to be insulted at the surprise tinting Dexter’s words. After all, Larrikin wasn't all that important to his former owners - they just held grudges.

“I killed a Hutt in my escape.”

Dexter stared at him. 

“What?” Larrikin demanded self-consciously. “I had to.” That wasn't strictly true; it was just considerably easier that way. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll teach you how to use a lightsaber. But first you've got to make one,” Dexter said eventually, which wasn't the response Larrikin was expecting, but he didn't dare question it.

“Should we go to Ilum, then?”

“No. You've got make a hilt first. I'll go see what the nearest planet is. If it has any big cities, you should be able to get everything you need from it.”  
Larrikin watched Dexter duck into the front of the ship, and then he let a smile grow across his face. He was going to learn to use a lightsaber. From a Jedi (Padawan).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on what color Larrikin's lightsaber should be?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's exactly midnight here right now, which means I'm more like two days behind on updating :/ I'm sorry, it's been such a weird week... and school starts next week which will only muck up my writing schedule more... I will try to have the next chapter up on the 28th.

23 BBY, Coruscant, Senate District Housing

Padmé Amidala sat in the same spot she had the night she drank a little too much wine. Erskine sat across from her, but the pair were drinking water tonight. This was business. Padmé’s attire was simpler, more professional, but it made her no less beautiful. 

“You know by now that there are some planets that would like to break away from the republic,” Padmé said, getting straight to the point. Erskine appreciated that. For a politician, he wasn't all that adept at small talk. 

Erskine nodded. They were mostly Outer Rim planets so far, but the movement was growing rapidly. He wouldn't have been surprised hear stronger planets were starting to join up. 

“Some of our fellow senators are even supporting the end of the Republic.” That was news to Erskine, but he didn't let it show on his face. Nor did he ask how Padmé knew. She seemed to have some secret source - a spy, perhaps - and she always redirected the conversation whenever Erskine asked how she knew certain things. Her spy was usually right, so Erskine supposed it didn't matter. 

“And what do they plan to install in its place?” he asked instead, raising an eyebrow. 

Padmé shook her head. “I'm not sure yet. I came here to ask you to be apart of a group of loyalist senators - loyal to the Republic and to Palpatine.”

Erskine frowned ever so slightly, and Padmé gave a small sigh. She leaned forward on the couch. “I know you don't like Palpatine. He isn't my favorite person either. However, we need to create a united front right now. I fear it's the only way to say our Republic.”

Padmé’s words didn't sound rehearsed, per say, but Erskine could tell she choose her words carefully. 

“What would joining this group of senators involve, specifically?”

A growing smile graced Padmé’s face. “We would ask that you support our measures for preserving peace in the galaxy…” 

***  
“Senator,” Erskine’s chief assistant, Hopeless, called from behind him. Erskine was headed for his speeder, and he stopped walking so that Hopeless could catch up. He was on his way to a meeting with Padmé’s loyalist group, although he'd made it very clear to her that he wasn't committing to anything yet. He had to contact Kuat’s king and, more importantly, poll the people before joining any factions. 

“Hopeless,” Erskine greeted. The young man had dark red hair, and his face was coated in freckles, which no doubt caught the attention of many species when he was out and about. It wasn't a typical look for humans, after all. Erskine wondered which planet Hopeless was from? Kuat? Elsewhere? Erskine was quite embarrassed that he'd never asked.

“Senator, King Meritorious would like to schedule a conference call for tomorrow,” Hopeless said. He had a datapad nestled in the crook of his arm.

That explained why Hopeless had chased him outside, then. Normally, Hopeless messaged him information that he received while outside the office, but the king probably insisted an immediate response. 

“What time?” Erskine asked.

“He would prefer it between 08:00 and 10:00, sir.”

“Our time?”

The corner of Hopeless’ mouth twitched upward. “Of course.” Hopeless always took care to factor in the time difference between Coruscant and Kuat. 

“Ask him if 08:30 is alright.”

“You have a meeting with the Shipman’s Delegation from 08:30 to 09:00,” Hopeless said patiently. 

Erskine frowned. He'd forgotten about that. He made a mental note to look over his notes on the shipyards and their workers before the next morning. He also tried (and failed) not to remember the eerie group of workers he'd run into in the shipyards. What had they been on about? Something not being right in the Republic.

“Does 09:15 work for His Majesty, then?” Erskine added some time past the planned end of the meeting, just in case.

“I'll send a message right away, sir,” Hopeless said.

“Be sure to tell me what he says.”

“Yes, Senator.”

Erskine turned away from Hopeless, and then things happened very quickly. There was the click-and-whoosh sound of a blaster firing, but before Erskine could process the noise, he was shoved to the ground. And then there was the explosion. A nearby building went up in flames, and rush of hot air and ash fell over a dashed and confused Erskine. 

Erskine blinked up at Hopeless - surely, it was Hopeless who'd shoved him, but why? what? - and saw his mouth moving. Erskine’s ears were ringing. 

“-Senator? Ravel?” The ringing dulled a bit. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?”

Hopeless shook his head. The motion made Erskine dizzy, and he wasn't even the one moving. Wow. Erskine hit his head. Hard. That was going to hurt later.

“Someone shot the power lines running along this level of the city,” Hopeless explained, motioning in the direction of the speeders. “It sparked an explosion in that building… guess they were still using gas.”

“Oh,” Erskine commented dumbly.

“I thought they were trying to shoot you,” Hopeless mumbled. His face was red. Red as his hair. Erskine giggled. 

“Why would they do that?” Erskine asked, grinning. Hopeless stood up and dusted himself off. From all commotion going on nearby, it seemed like emergency services were already responding. Or maybe Erskine lost track of time. How did time even work? 

“Because you're a Senator. I have a feeling you were supposed to be caught in that blast, along with an unlucky someone in that building. 

“Two birds, one stone,” Erskine murmured to himself. Hopeless gave him a sideways look. Erskine beamed at him. How many freckles did Hopeless have on his face? Erskine thought about counting them, but decided it would take too long.

“Are you alright?” Hopeless asked him again.

“I'm dizzy.”

“I think you hit your head pretty hard. I'm sorry, sir.”

Erskine waved a hand at him to dismiss the apology and promptly got distracted by the floppy movement of his fingers. 

“Medics!” Hopeless called, far too loudly. 

“Shhh, Hopeless, what if the bad guys are still here?”

“Senator-”

“Shhh!”

Hopeless sighed heavily, and they waited in silence for the medical responders to come and help them.


	15. Chapter 15

23 BBY, Tatooine, Mos Espa 

It was hot. Loud. Crowded. Smelly. 

Cherry wasn’t making it any better by hanging off of him, but Saracen supposed that was better than some lowlife snatching her. She wasn’t much a fighter - in the physical sense. She was more of an opportunistic survivor, and Saracen couldn’t fault her for that. He could, however, fault the creatures in this Force-forsaken city that saw her as a piece of property to be stolen in the first place. Saracen scowled at one has it grabbed at her while they walked by, and Cherry hunkered closer. 

Saracen hated Tatooine. He’d only been planetside for two days, but it was two day too many. It was hot - two suns, what planet needed two suns? - and it made Coruscant’s Undercity look like a vacation resort. Dexter hadn’t even explained what they were doing here yet. He’d just said to watch Cherry and the ship, and taken off with Larrikin. Larrikin. Of all people. Saracen hoped they weren’t off fucking somewhere because he would murder Dexter if he was that depraved- 

Someone snapped at them in some language Saracen couldn’t speak, and Cherry hissed something back at him. “What language was that?” asked Saracen in Basic.

“Huttese. The Hutts pretty much rule this planet.” Saracen felt an odd sense of foreboding fill him at that piece of information.

“What do you know about the Hutts?” 

“They control everything,” Cherry said. She didn’t elaborate - apparently, that explained it all in her mind. Saracen didn’t press her for more details. It wasn’t the place. 

They’d (they being Saracen and Cherry, because who knew where the fuck Dexter and Larrikin were) been staying in the ship since they’d arrived - it was about an hour’s walk from the city, hidden amongst the endless sand dunes, and Saracen would’ve lost it if he couldn’t sense the ship with the Force - but they were out now to get some food. The ship’s rations were running dangerously low, and Saracen wanted to get the hell off the planet as soon as Dexter and Larrikin showed their sorry faces. 

Saracen and Cherry walked into a market - more crowded, more heat - and Cherry began swiping things from vendors when they weren’t looking and huddling close to Saracen with wide, innocent eyes when they looked at her suspiciously. She was quite good at it. Saracen almost admonished her, but then he realized they didn’t exactly have any money for food, so he let her be. 

All of the food that was sold in the market was non perishable, probably because the heat of the suns would destroy anything perishable before a profit could be made. It was convenient for Saracen and Cherry, though. Anything Cherry stole was good. Mostly, she took dried meat, but there were some dried fruits and nuts, too. 

The hardest thing to obtain was water. Tatooine didn’t have any large bodies of water on its surface. Water was imported. There wasn’t enough. Vendors didn’t just keep it out for easy access like dried strips of bantha meat. 

“We need a jug of something to keep us going,” Saracen murmured to Cherry in the afternoon, when the suns were growing unbearable, and there was no shade left to shelter in. 

“I don’t think we’ll find any water. But they drink other stuff. See the blue liquid in that container over there?” she said, nodding to a nearby stall. “It’s bantha milk. Not water, per say, but I heard that the locals basically live off it. Better than nothing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Saracen agreed. “Do you need help?”

Cherry shook her head. “Just stand there and look important.” She winked, and Saracen resisted the urge to groan. 

Cherry swiped the milk jug and hid it in Saracen’s bag, and then they were moving on just as the vendor began shouting about thieves. Cherry giggled behind her hand, and Saracen willed himself not to feel guilty. It wasn’t like it was the man’s only gallon of milk, anyway. 

They wandered out of the market and back in the direction of their ship, weaving their way through the full streets of Mos Espa. There were an array of creatures in the city, all backing at each other in various languages, all giving off different signals and vibes through the Force. It was giving Saracen a headache. He took a deep breath to clear his mind, and Cherry looked at him in confusion. He didn’t bother explaining it to her. 

They were nearly out of the city when a loud commotion started up behind them. Shouting - in Huttese, Saracen thought, and then shoving, and then- 

“Oh shit,” muttered Saracen. 

Larrikin burst through the crowd, Dexter hot on his heels. They were being chased by some creatures Saracen was completely unfamiliar with - but they were fast and they were firing blasters. 

“Should we pretend we don’t know ‘em?” Cherry whispered, although ‘whisper’ was really relative. Still, no one seemed to hear her. They were all too busy watching Larrikin and Dexter sprint for their lives. 

“Yes. Come on, we have to get back to the ship before them.” 

“How- Why?”

Saracen shook his head. “We need to be ready to get off this fucking planet as soon as they lose those… things.”  
“If they lose ‘em.”

“I trust that they’ll figure something out,” Saracen said, not feeling particularly sympathetic for either of them. They’d gotten themselves into this mess, after all. And besides, Dexter had his lightsaber and the Force. 

Saracen was more worried about making it off the hellish nightmare that was Tatooine without getting heat stroke.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @swiftbell over on tumblr drew some beautiful art of the Dead Men as they appear in this AU. It's so amazing, I love it so much, go over and give her and the art some love because the boys (and Tanith and Val!) look awesome! http://swiftbell.tumblr.com/ (how does one make links more precise??? Idk??? however it's the top thing on her blog right now. im so bad at interneting)

23 BBY, Pamarthe, The House of Royals

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Skulduggery said dully. Ghastly knew his condolences wouldn't make anything better - condolences rarely did - but he hoped the support would help his oldest friend. Skulduggery’s father passed after suddenly falling ill with the lung sickness that came in with the spring winds. 

The House of Royals was the mansion complex that took up an entire island in the center of the capital city of Marj. It belonged to the royal family, and it was where Skulduggery was raised. Ghastly’s own childhood home was just across the water, on the outskirts of the city. They were on the back grounds, where the king had specified he wished to be buried.

Ghastly glanced around and saw that Valkyrie and Tanith were talking quietly among the other mourners - none of which were Twi’leks because Skulduggery’s father never knew the full extent of Skulduggery’s project. Skulduggery’s mother was being comforted by his younger sister. 

“I'm the king now, Ghastly,” Skulduggery said after a few minutes of silence. He'd been staring at his father's gravestone since they'd put the king in the ground. 

“Yes,” Ghastly agreed.

“I'm not ready to be king.”

“You are.”

“How can you be so sure?” Skulduggery demanded, tearing his eyes from the white marble. “We're on the brink of war. What do I know about fighting a war?”

“You're not alone. You have advisors. You have Valkyrie. You have me.”

“I guess they would know what to do…” Skulduggery said thoughtfully. “Although you would be a terrible tactical consultant,” he added, a small smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. 

“Yeah, I would.” Ghastly lost every game of holochess he'd ever played with Skulduggery. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“But… do you enjoy your job with the Twi’leks?”

“Of course.” Ghastly was glad that he could answer honestly, although he'd have said yes even if he hated it. He couldn't bear to complicate Skulduggery’s life with something so unimportant at the moment. 

“Good. I need someone to help me integrate them into our society. They can't stay on their one island forever. And if the war encompasses Ryloth, too, perhaps more of them will migrate here.”

“And you're fine with that?” Ghastly asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think it would be unwise to maintain a single species society… although Father thought differently.” Skulduggery’s gaze sadden as it turned back upon his father's grave.

“Skulduggery,” came the soft voice of Skulduggery’s mother, a short, pretty woman known as Queen Angela. 

“Yes, Mother?” Skulduggery replied absently. He was normally so sharp, focused, present. Ghastly hated seeing best friend so upset.

“I need to speak with you,” she said. Ghastly noticed her face was stained with tears. Skulduggery took a second to respond, but eventually he nodded and walked off with her. 

Ghastly glanced down at the grave of the king, a man who'd treated him like he was his own. Ghastly had his own father, of course, and they had a good enough relationship, but Ghastly had spent a majority of his time at The House of Royals as a child - the king and queen were practically his second parents.

His eyes landed on the inscription, which read:

HERE LIES HIS ROYAL MAJESTY  
MARKUS II  
HOUSE OF PLEASANT  
BELOVED KING, HUSBAND, AND FATHER  
PAMARTHE’S CHAMPION 

The inscription was in Pamarthen, of course, and it was a bit wordy for Ghastly’s taste, but all and all it was a good marker. Not too grand and flashy, yet not the mark of a poor man. 

“He was a good man,” said a voice, and Ghastly snapped out of his memories of the king.

Valkyrie Cain had come to stand beside him while he was lost in thought. Ghastly looked around, but couldn't immediately see where Tanith had gone. 

“He was,” Ghastly agreed finally.

“Sure, he had some faults, but don't we all?” she said.

Ghastly nodded, though she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the grave. It sounded to Ghastly like she was telling the king something, that she forgave him for something. It wasn't Ghastly’s place to ask what, though, so he didn't. 

“Skulduggery will make a great king,” she said firmly, and if she wasn't talking to the king before, she was now. Ghastly knew that, despite the fact that the king and Skulduggery had loved each other, they hadn't always seen eye-to-eye. Skulduggery was far more open-minded than his father, and his father had always claimed that such opinions would be his downfall.

“I know,” Ghastly said anyway, pretending the comment was directed at himself.

“Everyone knows,” Valkyrie murmured. Ghastly thought he saw her wipe away a tear, and then she dropped a flower that he hadn't noticed she was holding onto the grave. The stem was grey, but the petals were midnight blue. A star flower.

Star flowers were traditional Pamarthe funeral flowes. As soon as they were cut, they began to die, and as their processes shut down, little white specks appeared on the petals. When it was truly dead, the white would stop appearing, and the flower looked like the night sky. They symbolized things beyond understanding, beyond Pamarthe, beyond humanity, beyong death. They symbolized loss and acceptance all in one. They symbolized hope. Light in the darkness.

Ghastly thought that just one was perfect for today.

***

“What?” Ghastly exclaimed. It was later now. The excessive groups of mourners were gone. Hours had passed since Valkyrie’s touching display with the star flower. It felt like a lifetime ago to Ghastly

“I said, she doesn't want me to be reigning monarch yet,” Skulduggery said, “and I agree with her. My mother is much more qualified to rule as queen.”

“You're getting out of it?” Ghastly couldn't believe it. What was Queen Angela thinking? Skulduggery was more than ready to be king - even if he didn't completely believe it himself. 

Skulduggery shook his head. “Now isn't the best time, Ghastly. Mother will do fine in my sted. If war breaks out, or something other crisis occurs, I'll take over.”

“And what if neither ever happen?” Ghastly challenged, suddenly angry with his friend for not stepping up to meet his destiny - the most important destiny to their planet.

“Then I'll take it before two years are out.”

“Skulduggery-”

“Ghastly, please,” Skulduggery nearly begged, his beautiful voice actually breaking. That stopped Ghastly in his tracks. “I need time.”

Ghastly took a deep breath. “Okay, Skulduggery. But don't take too long.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You: "PoF, you said you'd update every four days (even though you were supposed to be updating every *three*) and I'm not the best at math, but I'm pretty sure it's been like five days since you updated."
> 
> Me: "I'm not good at math either, which is why I procrastinated on my math homework and therefore did not have enough time to update yesterday. I hope the extra length makes up for that a bit."
> 
> You: "Ugh, PoF, length is a math term, please stop."
> 
> Me: "With pleasure. Enjoy the chapter."

22 BBY, the Snowbird, In Orbit of Ilum

Larrikin pressed his face up against one of the tiny craft’s few windows and peered down at the giant icy planet called Ilum. That was where his crystal was. He was going to get a kyber crystal. He was going to make his own lightsaber. Like a Jedi. 

After escaping Tatooine - apparently the locals didn't like being stolen from, fancy that - they spent a few weeks in mostly in space, with a some stops for food, fuel, and personal space. Dexter and Saracen worked on their Jedi things quite a bit - lightsaber forms, mediation, moving stuff with their minds. That left Larrikin to play a lot of holochess with Cherry. She was surprisingly good at it.

However, sometimes, when Saracen was sleeping, Dexter would tell him how to assemble the hilt of his lightsaber. Larrikin did most of the actually assembly himself - Dexter just talked him through it. He said that it would make the weapon more responsive to him, if Larrikin did it himself. 

For some reason, Dexter hadn't wanted to tell Saracen that he was helping Larrikin make his own lightsaber. He'd made Larrikin wake up early when they arrived on Tatooine, and they'd practically abandoned Saracen and Cherry in their search for parts. And even when Saracen caught them redhanded, racing away from some angry shop owners, Dexter had been evasive. Larrikin wasn't sure what reason Dexter gave Saracen for going to Ilum, but he wasn't completely stupid, so he didn't ask.

“When are we going to land?” Larrikin asked the person who'd just walked behind him, not taking his eyes off the window. 

“When our two favorite Jedi are done with their lover's spat,” Cherry answered, and Larrikin turned around just in time to watch her sink to the ground and pull out an old datapad she'd stolen a few days ago. Saracen had used the Force or something to disable the tracker built into it, and now Cherry was reading through the extensive collection of books on it. Larrikin was surprised she could read - and a little jealous. He could read Tionese pretty well, but little Basic.

“What’re they fighting about?” Larrikin asked, although if the sinking feeling in his chest was anything to go by, he probably already knew.

“You. Saracen thinks you and Dexter are fucking,” she said casually, swiping right on the datapad. 

“What?”

“He's thought so since Tatooine.”

“He never said anything-”

“Well, I think they're fighting through the Force or something, so technically he isn't even saying anything now.” Larrikin cocked his head, and sure enough, he couldn't hear the sound of quarreling voices. Gods, Force Sensitives were annoying. 

“How do you know that's what he thinks if he's not saying it out loud?” Larrikin asked, shifting under his jacket uncomfortably. 

Cherry snorted. “Because that's what I think, too. And Saracen looks jealous.”

“Wouldn't you guys notice if we were screwing around? The ship's not so big,” Larrikin pointed out, motioning to their tin can of a spacecraft. 

“You guys disappeared on Tatooine, and you've been doing something while Saracen’s asleep,” Cherry shot back. 

Larrikin probably looked guilty, because Cherry added, “I knew it!”

“Dex and I are not sleeping together.”

“Oh, so it's Dex now, huh?”

“Cherry, has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?” huffed Larrikin, feeling oddly hypocritical asking someone that after the amount of people that had said he himself was annoying.

Cherry nodded. “Oh yes. Plenty of people. As I've pointed out to them, that doesn't make me wrong.”

The ship rocked abruptly, cutting off whatever lame comment Larrikin was going to come back with. He fell up against the wall, which was now angled downwards, and a moment later, Cherry tumbled up against him with a shriek. 

“Think this’ll make your lover jealous?” she asked, sounding far too gleeful for a pile of limbs.

Larrikin groaned.

***  
Ilum was, by far, the coldest planet Larrikin had ever set foot on. He shivered, but then Dexter waved his hand, and Larrikin suddenly felt… well, not comfortable. Not cold or hot or anywhere in between. Disturbingly, he couldn't feel any temperature anymore. 

“Uh, Dex,” Larrikin said, “not sure I'm comfortable with the Force mojo.”

“I'll tell you if you're freezing to death,” murmured Dexter offhandedly. 

“How long’s the walk?” Larrikin asked, dropping the former subject. Nothing was better than freezing, he supposed.

“Six hours, give or take. Saracen and Cherry’ll watch the ship.”

“The Jedi make children hike up this mountain in a blizzard for six hours.”

“They have warmer clothing,” Dexter commented, eying Larrikin’s jacket. “And more supplies. We stopped about halfway when Saracen and I went for our crystals, but I think it would just be best if you and I kept on going straight through.”

They started off, trudging through the snow. When it got too deep for them to plough through, Dexter would move some of it with the Force. Larrikin was grateful that he'd had the foresight to obtain some thick boots before this journey. Otherwise, frostbite would've surely taken at least one of his feet.

Dexter wasn't much of a conversationalist, and besides, when the wind picked up, it drowned out sound. Still, during a calm moment, Larrikin had to ask: “Does Saracen think we're fucking?”

Dexter didn't look surprised at the question. He just sighed heavily. “Yes, something like that. I told him the truth, though.”

“And?”

“He hadn't decided if he believed me, as of our departure,” Dexter said. “He made that very clear to me.” He sounded bitter.

“I didn't mean to come between you…” Larrikin mumbled.

“No, this is my fault. I… we looked suspicious. I guess I'd hoped the goddess would tell him for me.”

This was not the first time Dexter had mentioned his goddess. Larrikin had a patron goddess, on Tion. She was the goddess of the rivers that flowed from the mountains to the seas. A rarity. A sign of purity. It was a bit ironic, now that Larrikin thought about it. 

Larrikin was pretty sure Dexter’s goddess was directly connected to the Force, if not a manifestation or piece of it in and of herself. If that was true, why hadn't she reassured Saracen? Maybe it wasn't in her job description. 

The rest of the hike was made mostly in silence, which was discomforting to Larrikin. Sometimes he started chattering about nothing. Dexter let him. They stopped to rest a few times, but never for very long. 

Eventually, they stepped out of the snow and the wind and into a cavern. The cavern was brightly light by the ethereal glow of kyber crystals in various colors, and Larrikin stared at them in awe.

“How do I know which one's mine?” Larrikin asked, voice laced with wonder. He'd never seen something quite so beautiful - the stars couldn't compare to the beauty of the crystals glistening against the cavern walls.

“Most people aren't lucky enough to be connected to any of these ones up front. Usually, you have to work for it a bit more. Come on.”

Larrikin followed Dexter deeper into the cavern, eyes following the twinkling crystals. They walked at a steady pace for a long time, so long that Larrikin’s already aching feet screamed for him to stop.

And then, finally, he felt it. He couldn't explain it. But he felt it.

“Dexter,” Larrikin whispered, placing a hand on a dark blue crystal attached to the wall at a point where it was level with his chest, “this one is mine.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a story with Anakin Skywalker in it before, and as soon as I started writing him, I was like "Damn, I really need to write more with him in it." His sassy, aggressive, confrontational, holier-than-thou attitude gives me life.

22 BBY, Coruscant, Galactic Senate Building 

Chancellor Palpatine called an emergency meeting of the Senate when war officially broke out.

Padmé was away - someone had tried to kill her, which Erskine could relate to - but what he couldn't relate to was her Jedi entourage. He'd declined their protection after the second attempt on his life, during which Hopeless had saved him again. It felt a lot less awkward to have Hopeless follow him around all the time as oppose to monkish mind-reading sword fighters.

Apparently, he'd made the right choice there, because in his announcement Palpatine mentioned that their very own Senator Amidala was present for the fighting on Geonosis. Of course, she'd been surrounded by Jedi, so she was probably fine. Erskine hoped. That woman seemed to look for trouble, one of her many equally annoying and endearing qualities.

These enemies of the Republic called themselves the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and they seemed to have quite the monetary backing. Palpatine told the Senate with a grave face that many Outer Rim Territories were, in fact, part of this confederacy, which was altogether unsurprising.

The only odd thing about the entire announcement of the battle was that Palpatine almost seemed… eager when he was speaking of it. He, of course, had the proper expression his face of disappointment and loss, but he rushed through the battle not like a man telling his peers about a horrific event, but like a child telling their mother about something they were proud of. 

Erskine wasn't sure if his perception of Palpatine was exactly accurate, as he was willing to admit he was biased when it came to the man. Besides, Padmé trusted him. Padmé didn't just trust anyone, either. Still… something seemed off. 

He would need more than that if he was ever going to bring up his concerns. Especially since he'd been stupid enough to agree to join Padmé’s little loyalist committee. They all trusted Palpatine. 

Erskine didn't. 

***  
“Padmé Amidala,” Bail Organa scowled her, just before Erskine could do it himself. Bail was from Alderaan, and he was a good man. Fierce for his planet when necessary, but then, who wasn't? He and Padmé had been friends since she became a Senator; Erskine had gotten to know him through the loyalist committee. “What were you thinking?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi was in danger,” Padmé said, stepping off her ship with a Jedi lurking behind her.

“And the Jedi saved him. Padmé, you could've been killed.”

“We all could be killed at any time. Isn't that right, Erskine?” she said, glancing over at Erskine for support.

“That doesn't mean you should go looking for death,” said Erskine. “But it hardly matters now - you're alright, and that's what's important.”

“Just try not to do it again,” Bail pleaded. 

“I'll try,” agreed Padmé, but Erskine had a feeling that she'd end up on another battlefield all the same. He thought that he'd end up on one himself before the end of this war. 

“If the welcoming committee’s done,” the Jedi said impatiently from where he was lounging against Padmé’s ship.

“Anakin,” admonished Padmé, but there was a certain fondness in her undertone. 

“I don't believe we've properly met,” Erskine said, extending a hand. “I'm Erskine Ravel.”

Anakin eyed his hand for a moment, and then apparently decided to ignore it. “Anakin Skywalker.” 

Erskine dropped his hand, and Bail gave his name, too, which Skywalker acknowledge with a curt nod. 

Hopeless was hovering a few meters away, but not close enough to be involved in the discussion or have reason to introduce himself. Erskine thought that was Hopeless’ way of giving him the illusion of privacy, and he appreciated it. He wondered if Padmé got any time away from the brooding Jedi in front of him - if she didn't, she probably wished she did. Maybe the others - Erskine thought there were two - weren't as bad as Skywalker. Or maybe he wasn't always like this.  
“Have you been discussing what to do about this confederacy?” Padmé asked, drawing attention away from her companion and back onto more important matters. 

“At length,” Bail answered. “The Chancellor thinks we should raise an army. He's hoping to negotiate with the Jedi Council.” Bail gave Skywalker a quick look that said he didn't believe cooperation would be all that easy if the other Jedi were like him. Skywalker rolled his eyes.

“It shouldn't be terribly difficult; we practically raised one on Geonosis. The Jedi will make fine generals, as much as I wish it weren't necessary,” Padmé said. She glanced sideways at Skywalker for a fraction of a second. She seemed fond of him, surprisingly. 

“But what of foot soldiers?” Erskine asked.

“I think we found an answer to that question, too,” Padmé said tartly. “Chancellor Palpatine asked me to give a speech tomorrow about my experiences and my input on where we should go with the war. I'll explain all the details then… it's a bit complicated.”

“Whatever it is, you don't sound happy about it,” observed Erskine. Skywalker snorted and rolled his eyes again. What an unpleasant man.

Skywalker glared in his direction, and Erskine recalled belatedly that Jedi could read minds. Awkward.

Padmé looked between the two of them as if she had an idea of what had just transpired, and then she laid a pacifying hand on Skywalker’s shoulder. Skywalker relaxed, but he also sulked a little. Erskine got the impression that he didn't like to back down from confrontations, as trivial and inconsequential they might be. He was happy to see that Padmé had a handle on him. Of course she did. She was Padmé Amidala.

“I'm not,” Padmé said in response to Erskine’s comment. “I'm not happy about any of this. The galaxy needs a Republic to keep order and justice. I fear we'll descend into chaos without it.”

Erskine thought he heard Skywalker mutter, “Or something worse,” under his breath. What could be worse than lawless chaos? Erskine didn't want to know, but he feared he might soon find out.


	19. Chapter 19

22 BBY, Ilum,  _ the Snowbird  _

It was probably for the best that Saracen was no longer a Jedi because the height of his anger right now would’ve definitely caused him to fall to the Sith instantly. As it was, he felt no moral obligations to either side of the Force at this point. 

Dexter Vex was an idiot. Teaching  _ Larrikin _ , of all people, how to wield a lightsaber. What a ridiculous notion. Dexter certainly knew it was ridiculous, too, or he wouldn’t have tried to hide from Saracen. And what was he thinking, taking Larrikin to the Jedi’s sacred caves to find a crystal?  _ Moron _ .

“I don’t have to be a Jedi pick up on your frustration,” Cherry commented. Saracen shot a glare at her. It wasn’t her fault, though. She hadn’t even known; her mind was the only one that’d been open like a book recently. Saracen should’ve suspected when Dexter started shielding Larrikin… but then, he’d just thought they were sleeping together. 

Saracen would’ve preferred that.

“Why? Why does he do things like this? Larrikin doesn’t need a Force-damned lightsaber.”

“You’re right about that,” grumbled Cherry. She pulled a blaster out of one of the compartments in the floor and began to polish it. Saracen suddenly got the sense that she felt slighted. Of course. Of course she did. No one had offered to train her in lightsaber combat, even though she was a vital part of the team. 

Saracen stood up and went into the ship’s matchbox-sized bedroom. He ducked under the bunk bed and pulled out a bag of mismatched parts. The leftover pieces from the construction of Larrikin’s lightsaber, which Saracen had found only that morning, had given him an idea. 

“Cherry,” he said. Curiosity had gotten the better of the Twi’lek, and she’d come to loiter in the bedroom doorway. “How would you like to learn lightsaber combat, too?”

Cherry grinned. 

***

They were a few hours behind Dexter and Larrikin, so Saracen left them a note on one of the datapad telling them not to leave until he and Cherry had returned. He didn’t specify where they were going, but he trusted Dexter to make an educated guess. 

Neither Saracen nor Cherry had the proper attire to hike up a frozen mountain, but Twi’lek braced better against the cool than humans, and Saracen had the Force to lend himself some semblance of warmth. 

“This is a long walk,” Cherry grunted about a half hour into the trip. Boy, was she in for a rude awakening. “Is everything to do with the Jedi so difficult?”

Saracen snorted. “Pretty much.”

“You know, you and Dexter never did say why you left the Jedi.”

“Did we say we left at all?”

Now it was Cherry’s turn to snort. “I know the lot of you think I’m some kind of idiot, but you can’t convince me for a moment that you’re on Jedi business.”

“Well... “

“Probably for the best. You know what I heard last time we touched down on-planet?”

Saracen frowned. He hadn’t heard any news for months; hadn’t really had the time to stop and read reports. But it was Cherry’s job to go fetch things, usually, and she was good at blending in. Made sense for her to overheard something. It gave Saracen a bad feeling, though. 

“What?”

“The Jedi are fighting for the Republic in a war against a group of breakaway systems. Separatists. They’re all generals now. So much for keeping the peace, right?”

Saracen went cold, and not from the icy temperatures on the planet. Was this  _ the darkness _ Saracen had been warned about years ago? Or would the war bring out the darkness from the recesses of the galaxy? Saracen wasn’t qualified to speculate on it; that was the job of Jedi Masters such as Yoda. He wondered if anyone else at the Temple ever experienced visions or dreams like his own. 

“Whatcha thinking about, Rue?”

“You don’t do well with silence, do you, Cherry?” observed Saracen, not for the first time.

Cherry ignored his comment. “Are you worried about your friends?”

Saracen recalled the other Padawans he and Dexter trained with. Their Masters. The Jedi Council. The younglings. He missed them all from time to time. There had been many nights where he stayed up and wondered if he should’ve warned the Council directly, insistently. Would they have taken him seriously? Saracen didn’t know if even his own Master, Master Koth, would have taken him seriously. They were never close. 

Saracen remembered that he was once jealous of Anakin Skywalker for the closeness between him and his Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He wondered now in retrospect if such closeness would be their downfall, like the Council always claimed attachment was. 

“Not worried, exactly. The Jedi are powerful,” Saracen responded vaguely.

“But you regret leaving them?” pressed Cherry. The girl didn’t know when to stop. 

Saracen sighed. “No. This is my path. The Jedi always say that the Force guides us. I believe that.”

“This Force. Dexter talks about it like it’s a woman. Like… like it’s his momma. Did the Force give birth to all the Jedi?” Cherry asked, looking amused at the idea. 

“Dexter thinks of the Force like a goddess,” said Saracen, not bothering to explain the intricacies of the Force. 

“Hmm. Some factions of Twi’leks worship a goddess. I never thought it’d do any good myself. Especially after I left Ryloth.”

It was on the tip of Saracen’s tongue to ask her about why she left Ryloth in the first place, but she interrupted his thoughts with a whoop. 

They had reached the entrance to the caves. Saracen hadn’t realized they’d been talking for so long. “Is this it?” Cherry asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“I hope I get a pretty color,” Cherry said, and then she ran into the cave without waiting for Saracen. 

Saracen rolled his eyes and ignited his lightsaber. If he remembered anything from his time as a Jedi, it was that they protected that which was sacred to them. It was therefore unwise to just burst into the caves. 

  
Hopefully, Cherry wouldn’t disturb any ancient evils before she acquired her kyber crystal.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't as long as my chapters usually are ~ however, the next one will be longer than normal, so it'll balance out.

22 BBY, Pamarthe, The Prince’s Isle

War had come. 

The Republic sent Jedi, Jedi, to Pamarthe to talk to the Queen. 

Skulduggery wasn’t invited, which was of great concern to Ghastly. Skulduggery was supposed to be the next king of Pamarthe. He should be involved in the discussion; he should be on the throne. Ghastly wasn’t sure why his mother was clinging to power… but he had a bad feeling about it. The worst part was that he couldn’t figure out how to share his concerns with Skulduggery - he knew his friend would not appreciate such talk at a time like this. 

“What do you think we will do?” asked Ghastly instead of voicing his many concerns. 

“Aid the Republic, I presume,” Skulduggery said. “I do not believe it is in such poor shape that a rebellion is a logical course of action.”

“Er… what does your mother think?”

Skulduggery frowned. “She thinks… differently. She and I discussed it recently, though, I’m sure she’ll follow through with what I commanded of her.”

“You commanded her?”

“She gave me no other choice,” Skulduggery said.

“Why aren’t you in attendance yourself, Skulduggery?”

A cloud of uncertainty covered Skulduggery’s features. Ghastly wasn’t used to seeing his friend look unsure of himself. It was discomforting, to say the least. 

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be a good leader, Ghastly.”

“That’s nonsense,” exclaimed Ghastly, and then more diplomatically, he added, “of course you’re a great leader, Skulduggery. You’ve already proven it time and time again. Just look at the Twi’leks, for one.”

Skulduggery didn’t look any more confident after Ghastly said this. Ghastly sighed. “Look, Skulduggery, your father was a great king, and I know it is a lot of pressure to follow in his shoes.”

“I thought this was meant to be a pep talk,” Skulduggery said, sounding mildly amused, but Ghastly ignored him. 

“But you are ready for this - and Pamarthe needs you. Please. We’re on the brink of war… and if you and your mother… disagree on which side of it the planet should be on…” Ghastly trailed off there, unsure of how to continue without insulting the Queen. 

Skulduggery, thankfully, understood the point. “She will try not to do as I bid, even if I command it of her,” he mumbled to himself. 

“Yes.”

“She’s probably turning those Jedi away,” Skulduggery continued. “Fuck.”

Skulduggery jumped to his feet. “I have to get into that meeting.” The look on his face told Ghastly that he’d just realized how much he’d messed up… but grief was a powerful blindfold. Ghastly didn’t think ill of his friend for succumbing to it.

Skulduggery left the room in a hurry. Ghastly heard him ask a guard about the whereabouts of the meeting place, and then his footsteps retreated down the corridor at a brisk pace. 

“What was that about?” Valkyrie asked, appearing in the doorway. She was wearing her full uniform, as per usual. Ghastly was surprised that she stopped to talk to him. Normally, she would follow Skulduggery and question him. It was her job, after all. 

“Why aren’t you asking him?”

Valkyrie sighed, entered the room, and sat down in Skulduggery’s chair. The sitting room that Skulduggery and Ghastly met in was modestly decorated, in comparison to the rest of the palace, and a lot of the outdated furniture was crammed in it. Ghastly liked the mismatched decor; it made him feel at home. 

“The Queen doesn’t trust me,” she grumbled. 

“What?”

“She demoted me, and then she ordered me not to tell Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said, her face contorted with anger. “I think she’s planning to overthrow him.”

“And you didn’t tell him?”

“I’m telling you,” Valkyrie said, “so that you can tell him. She hasn’t trusted me - ever. She only just demoted me, however. Without reason.”

“Yet you’re still dressed as Captain of the Guard.”

“Skulduggery would certainly notice if I wasn’t wearing it,” Valkyrie said bitterly, “if you were going to stage a coup, would you want the person you’re going to overthrow to see it coming?”

“Personally,” Ghastly retorted, his dread and apprehension growing stronger by the second, “I would’ve executed you so you couldn’t go around sharing your opinion.” What poor taste that was in.

Valkyrie barked out a laugh all the same. “Good thing Her Majesty isn’t as smart as you, Ghastly.”

But Ghastly feared the Queen was only biding her time. “You should watch out, Valkyrie.”

A grim expression took the place of Valkyrie’s amusement. “I know. And you and Tanith should, too. And… warn the Twi’leks, I don’t think she likes them, either.”

“I will. Thank you, Valkyrie,” Ghastly said. “Also… if Pamarthe joins the Separatists, the Twi’leks’ loyalty to us will probably crumble.”

“Not that I want to be a Separatist myself,” Valkyrie started, “but why?”

“The Separatists attacked their homeworld.”

“Weren’t they driven from their homeworld?”

Ghastly shook his head. “I…supposed they were, but they’ve never explained the whole story to me. Nevertheless, even if the Queen were to drive you off-planet, wouldn’t you still despise anyone that harmed Pamarthe’s innocents?”

Valkyrie considered this. “Good point. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Ghastly wasn’t sure if she was referring to being exiled or Pamarthe joining the Separatists, but either way, he agreed with her. How unfortunate that hopes didn’t always come to fruition.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the chapters I've had planned since the beginning.

21 BBY, Pamarthe, Twi’lek Isle

The war actually came planetside after the first month of the new year, and it was unexpected because after the Queen’s meeting with the Republic (which Skulduggery successfully intervened in), an agreement was made between Pamarthe and the rest of the Galactic Republic. A Republic fleet would always be in their sector, and would warn them if the Separatists broke though.

There was no warning. 

Ghastly was out on his boat when the first cluster of Separatists ships descended from the sky. There were easily twenty-five ships in that initial wave, and Ghastly watched in horror as one of them landed in the middle of his small island. The Twi’leks had no weaponry. Ghastly put in a request to allow non-human Pamarthens to carry blasters, but it hadn't gone through yet. Tanith couldn't hold off an entire ship’s worth of droids with her one blaster.

Ghastly slammed on the gas and headed full-speed back to the island. The Separatist ship couldn’t have been on the ground more than five minutes, and it looked like the island was already in a frenzy.  Arani was standing on the dock with a young Twi’lek boy in her arms. Tear tracks covered the boy’s face, but Arani seemed calm. Frighteningly so. 

“Arani, what’s happening?” Ghastly asked as he climbed out of his boat. Arani handed him the Twi’lek boy, and Ghastly took the little guy without question. He couldn’t have been more than four years old.

“The Separatists are invading,” Arani said, which Ghastly already knew. “They have said that if we fight them, we will be killed. Tanith’bespoke told us to hide the young ones. We are trying to do so now, but the droids do not like it. They keep insisting that we congregate in the center of the island. They have blasters. I do not wish to see anyone killed, Ghast’bespoke.”

Ghastly didn’t have a lot of experience with droids outside of the service ones that were used in the palaces. He didn’t know if battle droids could be reasoned with. It wasn’t like they were capable of independent thought, right? 

But it wasn’t as if they could fight, so it looked like Ghastly was going to have to try to reason with them anyway. 

The island wasn’t terribly higher than sea level, but there was a path of stone steps that led from the docks to the entrance of the village, and until they reached the top of the steps, Ghastly couldn’t see what was going on for himself. Arani, without the weight of the child slowing her down, darted ahead of Ghastly and stopped at the top. Arani was a woman of great dignity. She was calm in the face of almost everything, as evident by her demeanor at the docks. But she stopped, and her expression twisted.

Ghastly ran up the rest of the stairs. 

The village was in ruins. Smoke and blaster holes peppered nearby homes, and a couple of Twi’leks were lying dead or unconscious in the path. Ghastly covered the eyes of the Twi’lek boy, who began to sob harder. 

“They had no reason to attack,” Arani whispered, and then she ran over to one of the victims. He was dead - blaster bolt to the chest. 

“We need to find survivors,” Ghastly murmured after Arani confirmed that the other Twi’lek lying in the street was also dead. 

“They will be hiding. We must not come across the droids.”

“If we can get to my house… well, I only have one blaster.”

Arani sighed. Her lekku twitched. “That is better than none. I fear we will have to sit and wait for the military.”

Ghastly had no idea how long a military response would take. He couldn’t remember an incident wherein Pamarthe was ever directly invaded like this. Besides, based on what Valkyrie had told him, it sounded like the Queen probably had at least partial control of the military. And she was all for the Separatists - and hardly a fan of the Twi’leks. 

“We need to get inside, at least,” Ghastly said. 

Arani nodded. “I shall go first, since you are holding the child.”

“No, Arani-”

“I will not stand here and argue with you because of some misguided chivalrous desire, Ghast’bespoke. Hold the child. I will make sure our path is safe.” Arani looked upward, and Ghastly glanced up, too, fearing more Separatist ships. The sky was clear. “The darkness has arrived,” she said, clearly seeing something else. 

And then she started to creep down the path. 

Ghastly followed close behind her. He held his breath as they went around every corner, held the boy close and kept his eyes covered, though they passed no more bodies. 

They made it Ghastly’s house without coming across anyone - no droids, no Twi’leks, no humans. That unnerved Ghastly, although he thought he should be relieved by it. No news is good news, that sort of thing?

Arani opened the front door to Ghastly and Tanith’s house and peeked inside. She turned to Ghastly and said, “Some Twi’leks are inside. Come.”

Inside, there were six or seven Twi’leks. They were standing in a circle in the living room, and though they all looked up when Ghastly and Arani walked in, only one of them moved. 

“Realk’neqel!” she shouted, and she rushed over to take the boy from Ghastly’s arms.

The others just stared at them, looking void, and those stares quelled any happiness Ghastly felt for reuniting the boy with his mother. Arani must have had the same feeling because she asked, “What has happened?”

“We could not save her,” Sal’ashk, Arani’s younger brother, said. 

“Who?” demanded Arani. 

The Twi’leks parted slowly, and there, laid on the couch as if she were sleeping, was Tanith. 

Time slowed. Ghastly tried to take a step forward, but the world seemed sluggish around him. He felt like he was walking through water. Arani grabbed his arm - at least, he thought it was Arani - and led him to the edge of the couch. Ghastly slumped against it. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tanith. 

There was a hole in her head.  _ A hole _ . From a distance, it’d looked like a smudge of mud or ink… Ghastly couldn’t look at it. He couldn’t remember her that way. 

Her eyes were shut, her face relaxed. Someone had wrapped a silver scarf around her head, for reasons beyond Ghastly. It held her hair back. He wanted someone to take it off - it didn’t look right, it didn’t look like Tanith - but at the same time, he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching her. 

“The scarf, it is a Twi’lek tradition,” Arani whispered, though Ghastly could feel the words vibrating in the air of the room. “Different colors say different things about how the person was in life. Silver means friend and hero.” She continued to talk to the other Twi’leks, something about funeral rituals.

_ Friend and hero. Friend and hero. Friend and hero. Wife. Love. Tanith. _

Arani warned him. Years ago. 

  
Tanith was gone. Tanith was a victim of war. Tanith was taken by the darkness. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long!

21 BBY,  Tatooine, Mos Eisley 

“Can someone please tell me why we’re back on this Force-forsaken planet?” Saracen grumbled. 

Cherry giggled. She was the only one who dignified that comment with a response at all. Dexter just pulled the brim of his hat - and Larrikin wasn’t entirely sure when he’d acquired a hat, or where from, but it was definitely good for the weather - and Larrikin just glanced around the crowd again, trying not to stand out. 

Saracen knew very well why they were back on Tatooine - they were doing their damndest to avoid these so-called Clone Wars, this power struggle between the Republic and the Separatist. It was beyond Larrikin as to why the Republic didn’t let them go their own way. But then, that was why he was neither a politician nor a soldier. 

They had to keep their heads down because if people saw their lightsabers, people might assume they were on the side of the Jedi, and that was the last thing Larrikin wanted to be mistaken for. He fidgeted with his jacket, making sure that it covered the weapon clipped to his belt. He was proud of himself, actually, because he knew how to use his lightsaber pretty well, considering he’d only been training with it for a year. Dexter was a decent teacher, and Cherry made for a good practice partner. 

Larrikin wasn’t terribly surprised to find that Saracen and Cherry went crystal hunting not long after Dexter and Larrikin had. Dexter wasn’t surprised, either, but he still acted pissy about it for a month or so afterwards. Cherry had once asked if Larrikin and Dexter were screwing, but Saracen and Dexter were the two that acted like a married couple.

“I think we should visit the Hutts. Isn’t Jabba the Hutt’s palace around here somewhere?” commented Cherry, far too brightly than anyone discussing a confrontation with the Hutts should be. They were in a bazaar now, casually swiping food off of tables and stalls as they passed, with no specific direction to their ‘avoid the war’ plan. 

“Why would we do that?” Larrikin asked. 

“Because they’re terrible and someone needs to put them in their place?”

“That’s the path to the dark side,” Saracen says idly, and at the same time Dexter says, “That will get the Jedi and the Sith here immediately, along with clones and droids.”

“Why would Force Sensitives care about Hutts?”

“They don’t, on their own. But with their political alliances and the Hutts’ control over the Outer Rim… they would have to come,” Saracen explained. 

“It’s always politics,” Cherry grumbled, sounding disgusted. 

“Hey,  _ chuba! _ ” shouted a voice from behind them. 

“Don’t turn around,” Larrikin and Cherry said in unison, but Dexter and Saracen were both already turning around because the two of them might have been little Jedis-in-training for years, but neither of them would’ve survived ten seconds as criminals on their own. 

A very angry-looking stall-owner was shaking his fists at them and pointing, and some rough-looking  _ gentlemen _ were headed in their direction. Someone must have noticed them swiping something. And Dexter and Saracen had made them look guilty.

“Run,” murmured Cherry, and Saracen took off. Dexter froze for a second, but Larrikin had an idea of where she was going with this, and he motioned for Dexter to go, too. They used their Jedi skills to bolt and disappear among the crowd. 

The rough-looking gentlemen approached them - well, two of them broke off and went after Saracen and Dexter - and the first one said, “Thieves.”

_ “Nalphic caam,”  _ said Larrikin, and Cherry glanced at him, but quickly covered her surprise. “My man here, he doesn’t speak Basic or Huttese.” She grabbed onto Larrikin’s arm and smiled charmingly.

“What does he speak?”

“Tionese,” Cherry said, and Larrikin was a bit impressed that she properly identified.

“People still speak Tionese?” That was something they could work with. A distraction. Larrikin wouldn’t forget that his planet was once associated with a certain greatness. Seemed like other people could remember, too, though he wouldn’t have expected it out of sand people.

“Important people like my man here do,” Cherry said.

“And you understand it?”

“Enough.” Cherry put his head on his shoulder. Larrikin continued to play dumb.

“How does he get around without speaking Basic?”

“He’s not usually on shitholes like Tatooine,” Cherry said. “Everyone on his level can speak Tionese.”

“Whatever,” said one of the other gentlemen. Obviously, he wasn’t smart enough to understand the possibility that Larrikin could be important. Although, Larrikin had tried this once charade before - it didn’t usually take people very long to realize not all Tionese people were important, whatever their linguistic skill. 

“That man says you were stealing from him,” the leader said

“That’d be those two that ran off.”

“They were with you two.”

Cherry laughed. “They  _ wish _ ,” she purred. Larrikin barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. 

The leader frowned. “We’re gonna have to take both of you in. We’ll get him a translator droid.”

Cherry shook her head, her lekku flopping around like slippery eels. “Oh, that isn’t necessary, is it?”

The leader opened his mouth to protest, probably, and Larrikin didn’t know what Cherry was going to do to counter that protest. Larrikin didn’t look important. Talking the talk meant nothing without walking the walk. 

“ _ Die wanna wanga _ . Is there a problem here?” 

The gentlemen shook their heads. They… looked like they were leaving. 

Cherry and Larrikin both turned toward the sound of the new voice, and Larrikin could not believe the person who’d come to his rescue.  _ Anton Shudder _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huttese:  
> chuba - hey, you!  
> die wanna wanga - greetings 
> 
> Tionese (of my own fabrication):  
> nalphic caam - who, me?


	23. Chapter 23

21 BBY, Tatooine, Mos Eisley 

Saracen peered over the edge of the clay roof of the building he was hiding on top of. It overlooked the bazaar wherein Cherry and Larrikin were attempting to talk their way out of trouble. He watched Cherry throw her arm around Larrikin and wondered what outlandish story they'd concocted this time. 

A whoosh of air and a hum in the Force alerted Saracen that Dexter was nearby, and when he glanced behind himself, there he was. Losing the guards wasn't exactly rocket science. The planet’s government should probably work on that. Although the planet’s government was pretty much Jabba the Hutt. Therein lay the problem, Saracen supposed. 

“What are they doing?” Dexter asked. Their relationship had been rocky as of late, after the whole secret lightsaber building incident and both of them gaining apprentices. Saracen sometimes wondered where the Force-inspired boy he grew up with went. 

“Throwing them off,” Saracen answered. 

“It looks like it’s working.”

Saracen wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment. The guards seemed to be closing in, suspicious. He did have to hand it to Cherry and Larrikin, though - they stood their ground. 

A man wandered up to the group, and he said something. Saracen could tell that Larrikin recognized him, and from the way Dexter’s eyebrows shot up, he’d picked up on that as well. The new man said something to the guards. Then Cherry said something else. And the bazaar erupted into chaos. 

Saracen couldn’t tell who fired the first blaster bolt, but he was silently proud when Cherry’s lightsaber ignited, gleaming bright orange in Tatooine’s twin suns. She sliced through one of the guards before Larrikin had his weapon out. Saracen shot Dexter a grin. 

He stood up and hopped down from the roof, manipulating the Force so that he landed safely on the ground. Dexter followed after him. They both ignited their lightsabers, and green and purple joined the colorful frenzy. More guards poured into the streets and civilians took cover behind stalls. Someone shouted, “Jedi!” and Saracen heard Dexter curse. Hopefully, this wouldn’t get back to the Council. Hopefully. So much for keeping a low profile. 

Cherry and Larrikin didn’t have the Force to aid them in deflecting blaster bolts, so they had to take an offensive approach to dealing with the guards. Larrikin shouted something at Dexter, and Saracen supposed Dexter heard it because he ran in the opposite direction of the fight, toward the man who’d interfered with the discussion with the guard. Said man had a blaster of his own out and was firing at the guards, and Dexter stepped in to deflect the fire that the guards returned. 

So Larrikin did know him, then.

Saracen went to Cherry, although she didn’t really need any help. She was cutting down guards left and right. Larrikin was, too, except he seemed to be a bit more hesitant about striking any potentially fatal wounds. Saracen used the Force to shove away the gun of a guard who was about to shoot her in the back while she took down his friend, and she spun around and stabbed him in the gut. 

“Cherry!”

“I’m busy!”

Saracen cut the blaster of a nearby guard in half and shoved him down an alley with the Force. “You don’t have to kill them.”

“They’re trying to kill us!”

“They’re just doing their job.”

“Is now really the time for this?” Cherry asked, but she spared her next opponent by taking only his left limb. 

In the heat of the moment, it felt like they were surrounded by thousands, but when Larrikin literally took the legs of their last opponent, a few minutes had passed and there were only about twenty guards scattered about. 

“Looks like you made some friends on Coruscant,” commented a voice from behind him, and Saracen turned to see Dexter and the man walking toward them. It took him a second to register that the man was the one who’d spoken, and that he was talking to Larrikin. 

“I did, but I missed you,” Larrikin said earnestly. The man, who was unsmiling and came across as rather severe, gave Larrikin an unimpressed look. Apparently, the feeling was not mutual. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping a low profile,” Larrikin said with a little grin. 

The man made a point of slowly looking around the bazaar and then raising his eyebrows. “Good job.”

“Dexter Vex,” said Dexter, interjecting himself into the conversation between the man and Larrikin. Saracen barely resisted the urge to snort. “And you are?”

“Anton Shudder.” They sized each other up, and Dexter, in particular, gave off an air of hostility. Cherry and Larrikin could obviously sense it, too, even without the Force, because Larrikin was grinning, and Cherry was on the verge of full-on laughter. 

“How do you know Larrikin?” 

“I took him to Coruscant a few years ago,” Shudder said. He didn’t elaborate, but from the way Larrikin’s eyebrows shot up, Saracen assumed there was more to the story than that. 

“Are you a smuggler?” asked Dexter with a frown. 

“Yes. Are you going to arrest me, Master Jedi?” Shudder replied, sounding almost bored. He clearly didn’t think highly of the Jedi - and Saracen couldn’t blame him. They didn’t do much of anything to help the people out here, with the exception of taking in the oh-so-gifted Anakin Skywalker a few years back. Besides, Shudder was on the other side of law. 

“I’m not a Jedi,” Dexter said. 

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Saracen pressed a button on the hilt of his lightsaber, and the blade retracted. The second mention of Jedi made him anxious - he didn’t want to be recognized. Larrikin and Cherry did the same with their weapons, as if they’d forgotten that the sabers were still activated. Dexter kept his drawn. Prideful fool. 

“Do we,” Cherry motioned between herself and Larrikin, “look like Jedi to you?”

“No. You look like thieves. I was referring to your friends,” Shudder said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. Saracen honestly wasn’t sure what to make of the smuggler at this point.

“You wanna come with us?” Larrikin asked, and Saracen joined Dexter and Cherry in giving Larrikin incredulous looks for just offering such a thing without consulting them.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I saw your ship on my way into town. It’s a piece of garbage. You, however, are welcome to come with me.”

“Is that an all-inclusive ‘you’? And why am I allowed now?” Larrikin asked, and Saracen had to wonder why Larrikin hadn’t been allowed to stay with Shudder before. The frown on Dexter’s face said he was wondering the same thing. 

“The Hutts have bigger things to worry about these days. Like the Clone Wars. As for your other question, all of you can come. I could use a few not-Jedi watching my back.”

“Where are you going?” Saracen asked. There were few places Saracen wouldn’t go at this point; he really hated Tatooine. Two times planetside was two too many.

“Pamarthe,” Shudder answered. 

“What’s on Pamarthe?” asked Cherry, though she and Larrikin had already started following Shudder in the direction of the shipyards. Saracen found himself going, too. Dexter scowled, but followed after them. 

Pamarthe was a water-filled planet, if Saracen remembered correctly. That would be a definite improvement over all this sand.


	24. Chapter 24

21 BBY, Coruscant, Senate Apartment Building

“You're right,” Hopeless said, pulling Erskine from his uneasy slumber. He'd fallen asleep atop his datapad again. He'd been doing that often since the beginning of this awful conflict. 

“Right about what?” he mumbled, taking the cup of tea Hopeless offered him. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 02:40. He had a meeting with Chancellor Palpatine and a few Senators in three hours regarding new Republic ships coming out of Kuat. 

Hopeless glanced around, as if he was wary someone might be listening to them. The quarters were Erskine's own private ones, and he had it checked for bugs weekly, so the gesture was unnecessary. It still set Erskine on edge, though.

Hopeless had moved in with him after saving his life, though he readily admitted that he probably wouldn't be able to defend Erskine particularly well if an attack came into his quarters. He claimed the two previous incidences were luck. The more Erskine got to know Padmé’s Skywalker, the more inclined to put his life in the hands of luck he became. Although the other two Jedi that appeared around Padmé sometimes, Kenobi and Tano, were a lot more pleasant.

“Right about Palpatine,” Hopeless said, voice low.

Erskine snorted. “I say a lot of things about Palpatine; you're going to have to be more specific.”

“He's behind this war. I… I think he's controlling Count Dooku,” Hopeless whispered, and for a moment, Erskine just stared at him. He's never liked Palpatine, and he's always thought there was something off about the guy - but for him to be leading both sides of a war? That was extreme.

“How do you know this?” Erskine demanded.

“The ship that came in from the Outer Rim yesterday had a friend of mine on it. He sent me a message. I just decrypted it.”

“The one that blew up?” The official cause of the explosion was an engine malfunction, but Erskine suddenly had the feeling that something more nefarious happened.

Hopeless nodded. “It blew up seconds the message was sent. It's only a matter of time before someone in Palpatine’s circle tracks it to me.”

“If you're right…”

“We're both dead,” Hopeless supplied grimly.

“What could he gain from waging war against himself? And how could he control a Sith Lord like Dooku?” Erskine wondered. He wasn't as concerned about the impending threat of death as he would've been a couple years ago. There was always that threat these days.

“I think  _ Palpatine _ is a Sith Lord.”

“How the hell would he be able to hide that from the Jedi? Just how reliable is this friend of yours, Hopeless?”

Hopeless’ serious expression didn't waver. Erskine found it hard to believe that Hopeless would come to him with this information if he didn't believe it himself - but Palpatine as a Sith Lord? He found that hard to believe, too. Being a bastard didn't make the guy evil.

Erskine had honestly expected the old Chancellor's worst crime to be tax fraud or something. “But what is his endgame in this scenario?”

“I think he wants to destroy the Jedi. Aren’t they enemies?” asked Hopeless. Erskine didn’t know enough about Jedi and Sith to know if they hated each other enough to destroy each other. He just knew they both used the Force, and that Jedi thought the Sith were quite evil. But well, just because one group thought another evil didn’t mean it was necessarily true. The Jedi were strict - perhaps the Sith didn’t approve of all the rules. Though, if Hopeless was right about all of this, then Erskine would be inclined to think the Sith very, very evil. The war was killing thousands daily.

“He’d want to destroy more than that,” Erskine murmured. “Democracy. He’d be trying to destroy the Senate, too.”

“Well, a war definitely makes you look bad. A war that you can’t stop makes you look worse.”

“Palpatine has special military powers over the Grand Army of the Republic,” Erskine said. He wanted to stop talking, actually, because every time he opened his mouth the situation got worse. 

Hopeless didn’t have any comment for that. He just raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re sure?” Erskine tried again.

“Senator, I’m sure.”

Erskine took a deep breath. He trusted Hopeless. Hopeless had been a great aid for years, and more recently, a great friend/lucky bodyguard. And besides, Erskine always knew there was something off about Palpatine. 

“We can’t stop him.”

“I know.”

_ “Fuck.”  _ Erskine dropped his face to his hands. It was definitely too early for this.

“And we have to leave,” Hopeless added gently. 

“Right.” Except that wasn’t right. Erskine couldn’t do that. 

“We can’t tell anyone where we’re going or why.”

“I can’t just abandon my post,” Erskine said. “Kuat needs a representative.”

Hopeless gave him a sad look. “Senator, in a few hours, you’re supposed to meet with Palpatine himself. If he’s a Sith, he can probably do that thing the Jedi do where they use the Force to read your mind. He’ll know you know.”

“I hope you recognize how crazy this sounds.”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“I can’t leave.”

Hopeless looked like he wanted argue, but knew it’d be pointless. And it would be. The threat of death had been looming over Erskine for a while - which made a lot of sense now - and he’d yet to back down. He didn’t become a senator to be a coward when people needed him. He’d become a senator to make a difference in the galaxy. 

“Hopeless, if you want to leave, I completely understand,” Erskine said. He didn’t need to end up a martyr, too. Not that Erskine planned to die. It just seemed likely, at this point.

Hopeless tried to smile. It was pretty weak. “I’m not leaving.”

  
Erskine glanced at the clock once again. 03:00. “Then we have some work to do.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry my homeslices time just got away from me

20 BBY, Pamarthe, Undisclosed Location

Ghastly sat on the deck of the ship and stared at his hands. Tanith was dead. She'd been dead for months. The thought still left him feeling ill and angry, and yet, there was a part of him that would look over at the door and expect her to walk through it at any moment. He found that to be the cruelest trick, that misguided hope. It was almost as bad as the numbness he'd felt immediately afterwards. 

The door from the lower decks did open, but when Ghastly looked up, Skulduggery was standing there, not Tanith. He sat down beside Ghastly and didn't say a word. He'd been overthrown by his own mother since Tanith’s death, and Valkyrie was missing. Ghastly would say that Skulduggery was feeling almost as miserable as he was. 

“I contacted someone,” he said eventually, when the deep red sun began to set on the horizon. “A smuggler. He's going to take us off-planet. I'm going to seek asylum on Coruscant.”

Ghastly nodded. Skulduggery seemed to be inviting him without actually saying so - but it wasn't as if Ghastly had anywhere else to go. 

“When will he arrive?” Ghastly asked. It would be better for Skulduggery to leave the planet sooner rather than later. Anyone aligned with his mother or the Separatists had reason to want him dead.

“In a few hours. We're meeting him on one of the southern islands. I believe the locals call it the Patch.” 

Ghastly knew the area he was referring to. It was a good spot, he supposed. Far away from the center of the planet's activity. 

They sat in silence and watched the sun set. The only sounds were lapping of the waves and the purr of the boat’s engine. Ghastly didn't know exactly how long they sat - his concept of time had been destroyed in the last few months of long waiting and short bursts of action. But eventually, after Pamarthe’s three moons had risen, they docked at the Patch. Only then did Skulduggery stand and motion for Ghastly to come with him. 

When the two of them stepped off the boat, each with one bag in his hand, the most notable thing was the large, dark craft that covered most of the small island. And a close second to that was the red Twi’lek woman amongst a group of human men of various sizes. Ghastly gave Skulduggery a questioning look; Skulduggery just shrugged. 

“Your Majesty,” greeted one of the men, the tallest of them, and the rest of the group feel silent abruptly, like they hadn't noticed they had company.

“You're Shudder, then?” Skulduggery asked, stepping forward and shaking his hand. It was a Core Worlds custom, and Ghastly could tell it was awkward for both of them.

“I am. This is my… crew,” Shudder said, giving his companions a look. One of the men snorted, which led Ghastly to believe they weren't a crew. Maybe other people Shudder was smuggling? It was probably safer not to ask.

“You'll have to tell us the truth, I'm afraid,” Skulduggery said. Ghastly sighed. 

“They're friends,” Shudder conceded.

Skulduggery didn't look satisfied, but he didn't demand any more information. A blanket of tension settled between them and the group. 

And then: “Hi, I'm Larrikin, and these are Saracen, Dex, and Cherry.” The man who spoke bounded forward when he did, and Shudder looked like he wanted to grab the man - Larrikin -and fling him back toward the ship. Larrikin pointed to each person as he spoke. Ghastly spent enough years around Twi’leks that he knew Cherry was the name of a slave girl, not of a Ryloth-raised woman. 

“Which one of you owns her?” Ghastly asked coolly. Everyone stared at him, including Skulduggery, and then Larrikin and the men he'd introduced all looked at Cherry.

She, to Ghastly’s surprise, was the one that replied, “No one owns me but myself anymore.”

Ghastly nodded curtly. Good.

“We should probably get moving, then,” Skulduggery said in the silence that followed. 

Shudder motioned for them to follow him onto the ship, the not-crew following behind Ghastly and Skulduggery. It was a bit crowded with six grown human men and one Twi’lek woman all trying to find their own space on the ship. Ghastly noticed Larrikin perch himself in Dex’s lap, which the other man, Saracen, didn't look happy about. And then when Shudder peaked his head in from the cockpit, he frowned at the arrangement. Cherry seemed to catch Ghastly noticing the ship’s dynamics because she gave him a little shrug.

Skulduggery leaned over and whispered, “There's a bit of tension in here.” Of course, he’d noticed. Dex and Saracen both looked at the two of them, and if Ghastly didn't know better, he would say they'd heard Skulduggery’s comment. 

“So Anton tells us you're a prince,” Larrikin said to Skulduggery. Ghastly was about to ask who Anton was, but then realized that he was probably Shudder.

“Dethroned, alas,” Skulduggery said as if he were just mentioning how poor the weather was. 

“That has to be hard,” Larrikin said with a sympathetic nod. 

“It has been. But I'm sure you've had your own struggles. I wouldn't want to burden you with tales of mine.”

“It's no burden,” Larrikin assured. 

“Forgive him, he's too curious for his own good sometimes,” Dex said mildly, patting Larrikin's leg. Larrikin grinned at him. Saracen glared, and then he looked away and tried to pretend he hadn't.

“So what do you know about Twi’leks?” redirected Cherry. “You seemed personally offended by my situation. Or is it just slavery in general that pisses you off?”

The questions were clearly directed at Ghastly. “It was both,” he admits slowly. “We had a colony of Twi'leks on the planet. I oversaw their… well-being.”

“The Separatists kill them?” she asked.   
“No, my mother did,” Skulduggery said bitterly. That wasn't strictly true; Separatists did kill some - the day they killed Tanith.

“A few escaped,” amended Ghastly softly. Arani had escaped. Ghastly didn't know where she was now. 

Cherry reached out and laid a hand atop one of Ghastly’s. She didn't say she was sorry, or anything at all. Ghastly appreciated the gesture.

The ship rattled as it took off, uncaring of its passenger's unspoken prayer for the dead, and they left Pamarthe behind. Ghastly closed his eyes and said goodbye to everyone lost to violence in the past few months - whether they be human or Twi’lek - and then he said goodbye to Tanith.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY!!!
> 
> December killed me. 
> 
> But I'm here now with a new chapter and some news: Balance (and my other story, If You're Unlucky) will be updated every Saturday from here on out (next update's on the 7th), and Balance is projected to be completed on February 11th. There will be a side-story in this 'verse that'll come out sometime in the spring. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you that have been stickin' with me since I started, and for those you who are newer, thank you, too. All of you are awesome. Enjoy the chapter.

20 BBY, Mid Rim Space,  _ The Midnight  _

Larrikin knew he was a lot of terrible and undesirable things, but  _ stupid _ wasn’t one of them. Saracen and Anton did not like how buddy-buddy he was with Dexter. Certainly, Dexter knew it, too, but he didn’t care. Larrikin couldn’t find a reason to care himself, except that maybe Anton allowing them to hitch a ride instead of abandoning them on Tatooine meant something. Something that had to do with why he didn’t like Larrikin receiving attention from Dexter. 

But then again, maybe Anton shouldn’t have left Larrikin’s shirtless ass on Coruscant to begin with. 

That was why he sat on Dexter’s lap after they picked up their newest travelers on Pamarthe. That, and Dexter’s lap was comfortable. It wasn’t like there was anything going on between him and Dexter. But, it shouldn’t have mattered if there was. Right?

Dexter nudged his leg, like he often did when Larrikin was projecting emotions and thoughts too loudly. It wasn’t like he could turn them off like apparently Force Sensitives could, but he tried to police them anyway. He glanced over at Saracen, who seemed to be sleeping, and hoped he hadn’t picked up on too much. 

“You don’t have to sit on my lap,” Dexter murmured. Larrikin supposed that was technically true; he could go sit on someone else’s lap, or crowd into someone else’s personal space. “If you’re worried about what they’ll think.” Larrikin wondered which  _ they _ he was referring to - probably the ones Larrikin was just thinking about. 

“No, it’s fine. If you’re still alright with.” Dexter nodded. Moving would probably wake up Saracen and Cherry, the latter of which had nodded off on the shoulder of one of the newcomers. Ghastly, his name was, and what an apt description. Then again, he wasn’t the ugliest person Larrikin had ever met. The scars were a tad off putting, that was all. He was awake, staring out  _ Midnight _ ’s tiny viewport.  The other newcomer, the former prince of the entire planet of Pamarthe (how does one family even rule an entire planet?), seemed like he might be asleep, too, but Larrikin couldn’t see him very well from where he was sitting. 

“If I wasn’t, I’d have already shoved you onto the floor,” Dexter says with a little smile, and Larrikin grinned. 

“What’re we going to do on Coruscant?” Larrikin asked, even though they hadn’t discussed as a group, so how would Dexter know?

“What do you want to do?”

“Tell the Chancellor to fuck himself,” Larrikin said, perhaps a bit too honestly, but Dexter laughed - and to his surprise, so did Ghastly, who looked away from the viewport to turn his eyes on Larrikin.

“What problem do you have with Palpatine?” asked Ghastly. Larrikin suddenly realized that made him sound pro-Separatist when he was really more of an anarchist than anything. Actually, anarchy wasn’t a good solution either. But Palpatine was using the damn war to take too much power for himself, an idiot with eyes could see that. Even an idiot who lived in the shitty Outer Rim and never had much time for Core World politics like himself could see that. 

What could Larrikin say? He had a lot of time to read Dexter and Saracen’s datapads while they were planet hopping.

“Twenty credits says he’s using this war as a way to become an evil dictator,” Larrikin muttered, since he wasn’t sure he was politically versed enough to get into a serious argument with a prince’s best friend about Palpatine, and besides, they had to share a small space for at least another three days 

Ghastly laughed again, thankfully, and so did Dexter, who Larrikin knew agreed with him on a lot of aspects of this war. “I’ll take that bet.” 

“With Dex as our witness.”

“Do I get a cut of the earning?”

“No,” Larrikin and Ghastly said in unison. “It’s only twenty credits, Dex,” Larrikin added. 

Dexter sighed theatrically enough to give Larrikin a run for his money, and Larrikin wondered, not for the first time, if the Jedi were not all secret drama queens. It would explain so much if they were, but then, they were generals and intergalactic leaders. So some of them had to be a little more mature, right?

Larrikin didn’t ask. Dexter and Saracen didn’t talk about their years as Padawans very frequently outside of combat training, and even then, they only said was necessary for Larrikin and Cherry to grasp whatever skill they were teaching. Besides, Ghastly didn’t know about that.

“What if he outlaws credits once he’s an evil dictator? What if people start paying for things in… rocks?” Larrikin blurted out. 

“Then I guess I owe you twenty rocks,” Ghastly said without missing a beat. Larrikin liked him.

“Rocks have different values.”

“Really?”

“The prettier they are, the more they’re worth,” Larrikin said, and Ghastly rolled his eyes. “What, have you never bought someone jewelry?”

Ghastly shrugged. “My wife wasn’t a big fan of jewelry,” he admitted, and it didn’t escape Larrikin’s notice that his voice dropped. Dexter gave Larrikin a warning look, eyebrows raised all serious and everything. Larrikin was a little offended that Dexter didn’t think he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

A silence that wasn’t exactly comfortable settled between them

“Larrikin,” barked Anton, and then he appeared in the doorway that separated the cockpit from the ship’s main hold. He looked around at all the people sleeping and lowered his voice. “Come in here and watch where we’re going so I can take a nap in peace.”

Larrikin bounced out of Dexter’s lap and onto his own feet, and as he predicted, Saracen stirred across the room. Oh, well. Other people needed sleep, too. Anton had shown him (and only Larrikin, for some reason that Larrikin didn’t want to think about)  _ Midnight _ ’s basic operating system and briefed him on what to do should Anton be asleep or incapacitated for any reason during an emergency. Larrikin had only listened to about half of it. 

  
“Good chat,” he said to Dexter and Ghastly in lieu of good-bye.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the Worst™.
> 
> Ok but musicals like consumed my life. But I still love Skulduggery Pleasant and my stories and here I am.
> 
> And Resurrection comes out in June ~ whatcha y'all think about that??

20 BBY, Coruscant, Senate Rotunda

It had been weeks since Erskine learned the truth about Palpatine.  _ Months. _ Erskine was, suspiciously enough, still alive, and it put him on edge every single day. Which, come to think of it, was likely  _ why _ Palpatine hadn't killed him yet. It wasn't as if Erskine had enough proof to be a threat; he was just a nuisance that Palpatine could play cat-and-mouse with.

Hopeless was (more or less) equally alive and equally on edge. He was usually by Erskine's side these days, scanning rooms and ports for anything out of place. As if noticing a bomb would stop it from going off on them.

Still, Erskine appreciated the gesture. Appreciated Hopeless’ loyalty.

Erskine thought he was being subtle about his fears, though. Thought he presented a strong front as he went about his business. He didn't even wince when anyone asked him about his position in the Loyalist Committee. Granted, he also had very little to say about the Loyalist Committee, considering he'd done next to nothing to support them since being accepted. Sometimes he didn't show up to the meetings.

(“Senator Amidala seems pretty angry with you for shrinking from you Loyalist duties,” commented Hopeless one afternoon as they were leaving the Rotunda.

“Padmé would understand if I could show her the truth,” Erskine had said evenly. “I would rather she hate me then become Palpatine’s next victim.”)

An unfortunate side effect of Padmé being angry with him was that she talked to him less, so he was surprised when she followed him after a Senate session one day about five standard months after Erskine learned the truth about Palpatine. The session was about war funding; much to Erskine's chagrin, the Senate had ultimately voted to increase military spending. More money, more power, straight to Palpatine.

“Erskine,” she called, and Erskine stopped and waited for her because she'd been calling him “Senator Ravel” for a good three months, and she didn't like the increase of the military’s budget either, but here she was, smiling and calling him by his first name.

“Padmé,” he said, and then he glanced around for Skywalker. The Jedi was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they'd freed her from a constant protective detail. It had been awhile since someone tried to kill her; maybe they thought she didn't need one anymore.

“Can we speak privately?” she asked, looking at Hopeless. Before Erskine could reply, Hopeless nodded and walked further down the hall, where he wouldn't be able to hear them.

“Erskine, I don't know why you've been acting like a child recently,” she began, “but you… have been a good friend to me since I arrived at the Senate, and so I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I'm sorry. If I could share the problem, I would, but…”

Padmé nodded. She'd been in the world of politics longer than he had. She knew the job always came with secrets. She also, Erskine noticed, did not mention the Loyalist Committee. He supposed that was for the best, though he could still sense some tension in the air over it.

“I hope it gets resolved soon,” she said politely, and then, “I have some news of my own, but you'll have to keep it as secret as whatever has changed you in these past months.”

Erskine raised an eyebrow at her. News? What news could have her smiling so much? Erskine was fairly certain the war hadn't been called in favor of the Republic, which was the only news he could think of that she would be so excited for.

“I'm…” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and when she was satisfied, she finished, “pregnant.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Erskine wasn't expecting that. Of course, Padmé’s private life hadn't been his business recently. He couldn't think of who the father might be. Perhaps Senator Clovis? Erskine hoped not; the man was insufferable. But Padmé had a relationship with him once…

“Congratulations,” Erskine said after the beat of silence that'd fallen between them while he was processing.

“Thank you. I worry because of the conflict they’ll be born into, but I've found that my fears are the best encouragement I have to insight change.”

“As if you needed another reason,” Erskine teased.

Padmé smile widened. “I plan to make an announcement when I start to show, but I already talked to Palpatine, and I have planned to remain in the Senate, even after the child is born.”

That didn't surprise Erskine. He imagined Padmé sitting in the Senate with a toddler on her knee. The child would be well-behaved - but only on Senate time. They'd be as rebellious as their mother at all other times.

“What of their father?” Erskine asked, and Padmé’s smile diminished, but didn't disappear. Erskine mentally kicked himself; if she wanted him to know who to father of her child was, she would've told him.

“He is a good man,” Padmé said softly. “But he cannot be present in their life, not as much as I would like him to.”

Erskine was smart enough not to press the issue. 

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing left to say is that this will probably get more confusing before it gets clearer. I've never exactly written something like this before, so it's kind of a test run. 
> 
> Like I said, questions are always welcome, and so is constructive criticism!


End file.
